Witchling
Author: Yasmine Galenorn
Date: 2000-01-01 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Urban Fantasy; Paranormal; Fantasy; Paranormal Romance; Romance; Vampires; Witches; Magic; Fae; Demons
Description: We're the D'Artigo Sisters: Half-human, half-Faerie, we're savvy--and sexy--operatives for the Otherworld Intelligence Agency. But our mixed-blood heritage short-circuits our talents at all the wrong times. My sister Delilah shapeshifts into a tabby cat whenever she's stressed. Menolly's a vampire who's still trying to get the hang of being undead. And me? I'm Camille--a wicked-good witch. Except my magic is as unpredictable as the weather, which my enemies are about to find out the hard way... At the Wayfarer Inn, a portal to Otherworld and the local hangout for humans and beasties alike, our
Publisher: Berkley
Rights: Copyright © 2010 by Yasmine Galenorn.

Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Epigraph

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6

Playlist for Etched in Silver
Midwinter Memories from the D’Artigo Sisters
Teaser chapter
Berkley titles by Yasmine Galenorn

Dear Reader:

For those of you new to my books, I wanted to take this opportunity to welcome you into my worlds. For those of you who’ve been reading my books for a while, I wanted to thank you for revisiting the D’Artigo Sisters’ world, once again.

I actually started writing Etched in Silver before Berkley ever offered me the chance to see it in print. I kept getting glimpses of the meeting between Trillian and Camille and decided I wanted to flesh it out—to better understand what makes their relationship work and why they are so bound to one another. I knew they, above all other couples in this series, except for perhaps Delilah and the Autumn Lord, were destined to be together.

After Berkley contracted me for the novella, I was able to focus on it and really flesh out what I had already written. As the story unfolded, I could feel the link grow between the pair and I began to more fully comprehend their dynamic. And I also understood that—as much as Camille can be a romantic—she appreciates the bluntness of her Svartan lover.

Yes, Trillian is arrogant—it’s in his nature, not an affect. But he doesn’t use it against people he cares about, and he’s not quite the typical Svartan. The Svartans in my world are intensely charming and use their abilities to get what they want. While Trillian certainly has done that in the past, and while he is—at heart—a mercenary, Camille captured his love, and he will never deliberately hurt her.

Trillian keeps Camille honest with herself, and—more than any of her three husbands—he’s the one who can call her on bullshit and she’ll listen. She can trust him to be levelheaded about whatever may come. Trillian’s a pragmatist, a realist to his core, and if Camille needs an honest answer, she knows she can turn to him and he’ll tell her the truth.

There was a time, between Etched in Silver and Witchling, when Camille left him—she was more afraid of what might happen than of anything he did, but the bond of their ritual pulled them back together when Trillian showed up at her door in Witchling. As a side note, I would love to write the story of their breakup, knowing what I know now about them and their evolving relationship. I’m not sure if that will happen, but it’s in the back of my mind.

While the focus of this novella was on Camille and Trillian, I also had fun seeing Delilah and Menolly before they came Earthside, though I admit to a bittersweet sadness when I realized this story took place only a few weeks before Menolly was turned into a vampire. It was like viewing the last gasp of summer when you’re the only one who realizes the halcyon days are almost over, and autumn is right around the corner.

I hope that you enjoy Etched in Silver, the story of how Camille and Trillian met. I was thrilled when Berkley opted to release it as a stand-alone novella. As an added bonus, we’re including the first two chapters of Shaded Vision—book eleven in the Otherworld Series—here for your enjoyment. The book will be out on February 7, 2012. I’ve also added the playlist for Etched in Silver, which I could not do in the anthology. And I’ve included a little previously unpublished extra—“Midwinter Memories from the D’Artigo Sisters”—just a few memories from their childhood Yule celebrations. You will find all of these extras at the end of Etched in Silver.

And if you’re one of my Indigo Court readers, I hope you’re looking forward to reading Night Seeker, book three of the Indigo Court Series, which will be available July 2012.

Bright Blessings,
The Painted Panther
Yasmine Galenorn

Berkley titles by Yasmine Galenorn

THE OTHERWORLD SERIES
Witchling
Changeling
Darkling
Dragon Wytch
Night Huntress
Demon Mistress
Bone Magic
Harvest Hunting
Blood Wyne
Courting Darkness
Shaded Vision

THE INDIGO COURT SERIES
Night Myst
Night Veil
ANTHOLOGIES
Inked
Never After
Hexed

Berkley Prime Crime titles by Yasmine Galenorn
Ghost of a Chance
Legend of the Jade Dragon
Murder Under a Mystic Moon
A Harvest of Bones
One Hex of a Wedding

Yasmine Galenorn writing as India Ink
Scent to Her Grave
A Blush with Death
Glossed and Found

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Group
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

“Etched in Silver” previously appeared in the anthology Inked, published by The Berkley Publishing Group.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

ETCHED IN SILVER

A Berkley eSpecial / published by arrangement with the author

PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley eSpecial / January 2012

Copyright © 2010 by Yasmine Galenorn.

“Dear Reader” letter, “Playlist for Etched in Silver,” and “Midwinter Memories from the D’Artigo Sisters” copyright © 2012 by Yasmine Galenorn. Excerpt from Shaded Vision by Yasmine Galenorn copyright © 2012 by Yasmine Galenorn.

All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate
in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
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375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

ISBN : 978-1-101-56505-6

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Without obsession, life is nothing.

—JOHN WATERS

If we can live without passion, maybe we’d know some kind of peace. But we would be hollow. Empty rooms, shuttered and dank. Without passion, we’d be truly dead.

—JOSS WHEDON (BtVS)

1

THE room was a shade darker than night as I pushed my way through the haze of pungent smoke, trying not to cough. The fragrance of stale wine and decaying lotus blossoms filled the air, cloying and overripe. Noise echoed through the dimly lit room, a cacophony of whispers and laughter, drunken singing and arguments from the gambling tables all rolling into one to give me a supremely bad headache. Yeah, the Collequia was jumping and so were my nerves. I’d had a very long, very bad day, and it wasn’t over yet. Normally, I came here to hang out and play, but tonight was all business.

The hardcore opium eaters were out in full array. My nose twitched. Not only did they smell—think a week’s unwashed sweat and grime—but they were looking for nookie. Check that. They were looking for money, and they’d earn it by giving a woman—or a man—anything she or he wanted. Considering their habits, they’d probably toss in a few extra gifts for free. Disease, lice, fleas . . . all lovely little bundles of joy that I wasn’t interested in acquiring.

The pretty boys crowded around their tables in tight-knit groups, sucking on hookahs, gossiping, eyeing each new person who crossed the door. Oh yeah, they were hungry for money. Opium was a commodity, a pricey one, spurred on by our illustrious queen’s habit, and she set the price point for distributors throughout the city. Selling sex was an easy way to score one more round.

Sometimes I wondered what drew me back to this club time and again, but to be fair, not everybody here was out for the drugs. I’d met a number of friends and lovers here.

I scanned the room, looking for any signs of my quarry. Roche, one of the Veiled Fae, was wanted for rape and murder. He also happened to be a member of the Guard Des’Estar. Or at least he’d been a member till he’d gone bad. Very bad.

When Lathe, my boss at the Y’Elestrial Intelligence Agency, had assigned the case to me I knew one thing: they didn’t think that I had a chance in Hel’s domain of catching him. They always gave me and my sisters the cases they couldn’t solve. That way, they could blame us for ineptitude and save face. And we’d accrue another notch in a long string of botched jobs. Camille D’Artigo at your service—on the fast track to nowhere.

I meandered past a table for six, ignoring the bozos eyeing my boobs. Sawberry Fae, all of them—rough and crude. I couldn’t blame them for looking, though. After all, I was dressed to attract. For one thing, Roche responded to curvy women, so I was playing it up to lure him out. For another, I’d been waiting for a chance to wear my new outfit. Tight, sheer magenta tunic, thin skirt with a slit all the way up my thigh, the barest hint of woven silver panties. I made quite an impression, all right.

So when men stared at my boobs, it was part of the game and I just laughed it off. But the sweaty hand reaching out to cop a feel on my butt crossed the line.

“That’s one step too far, boy.”

The man didn’t budge, his fingers firmly fastened on my ass. “Hey girlie, give me a ride. I promise, I can do amazing tricks with my tongue.”

“I said, back off. I don’t offer pity fucks.” I didn’t pay for it either, and all the opium eaters were looking for was cash for another round.

“The pity would be if you don’t fuck me.” He snorted and squeezed.

Realizing I wasn’t going to get out of this without making some sort of scene, I slid my leg through the slit in my skirt to show off the silver dagger strapped around my thigh. “Remove the fingers from my ass or I’ll ram my stiletto through your crotch and you’ll never use that cock of yours again. Understand?”

He scowled as his buddies laughed, but he let go.

I leaned on the table. “Listen, boys, some of you aren’t half bad. Or you wouldn’t be if your eyes weren’t glazed over and your teeth were a couple of shades closer to white. Clean up your act and get a job.”

Without warning, Mr. Butt-Grabber grabbed my wrist and twisted. Hard. “Bitch. When I want advice from a half-breed, I’ll ask for it.”

“What did you call me?” I couldn’t reach my stiletto—he had my wrist, but he was standing, pressing against me, so I came down hard on his insole with my heel. He yelped and let go. I whipped out my dagger as he knocked over his chair. The dude was a good six-five and muscled, and it took everything I had to stand my ground. “Touch me again and you’ve touched your last woman.”

“Filthy windwalker.” He fumbled for his weapon, but his eyes were so glazed over from the opium that he couldn’t get a good grip on the hilt. I knew the look, though, and it wasn’t a safe one. Junkies were dangerous. “You should be grateful for any attention you get—”

“I suggest you apologize to the lady right now, unless you prefer to make an intimate acquaintance with my blade.”

The voice came from behind the Sawberry. It was smooth and calm, like silk drawn across skin, and set up a vibration in the air that rolled through my senses like a wave. I slowly turned my head to see who was speaking.

The most gorgeous man I’d ever seen was standing there, serrated dagger out, the tip lightly pressed against Mr. Fingers’s ribs. He wasn’t even looking at the Sawberry, but instead, was staring at me—his gaze fastened on my face, not my breasts. His eyes were the coolest shade of blue I’d ever seen. Ice blue. Glacier blue. Blue like a frosty morning in autumn. They stood out against the onyx color of his skin, as did the shock of silver hair that flowed down his back, shining with cerulean highlights. His face, though . . . damn, he was beautiful. More handsome than any man had a right to be, with a refined nose that led narrowly down to thick, luscious lips.

My breath caught in my throat. Touch me, kiss me, hold me, and help me get out of my head.

The Sawberry glanced down at the blade, then at the man holding it and fear flickered in his eyes. He held up his hands. “No harm, no worry,” he said, sitting back down. He swallowed his anger and added softly, “I’m sorry, miss. I won’t bother you again.”

Taken aback by the sudden turnaround, I looked back for the man who had cowed the giant but he’d vanished. Blinking, wondering if I’d imagined the entire incident, I hurried over to the counter.

“Petre bothering you?” Jahn, the bartender, wiped the polished wood in front of me. “He’s harmless enough, though when he’s hurting for another fix, I wouldn’t lay odds on his behavior. I cut them off around dawn. They haven’t paid their tab from last week yet, so they’re probably ready for more.”

“I almost had to cut him, but that man . . . Something about him scared the dude and he stopped right in his tracks. Apologized, too.”

“What man?” Jahn reached for the brandy bottle. I shook my head.

“No brandy tonight.” I looked around the bar, but didn’t see the man who’d come to my aid. “I dunno, I don’t see him now. He just . . . appeared from out of nowhere.” I glanced back at the bottle he was holding. “I’m in the mood for something different. Something a little more . . . exotic.”

Jahn let out a grin. “The day you’re not in the mood for something kinky is the day I close this place down. What’s the matter, Camille? Rough day?”

“Rough week.” I shrugged, scooping up a handful of the torado nuts and popping the salty treats into my mouth.

Lately, my life had been a long string of one bad day after another. My job sucked. I sucked at my job. My father was on my case again about how I was running the house. Hell, I was a Moon witch, member of the Coterie of the Moon Mother, and I worked for the YIA. Between work and Coterie meetings and running with the Hunt, I barely had time to sneeze, let alone help the housekeeper keep things tidy at home. Not only that, but I was worried about my sister Menolly and the new job the agency had assigned to her. It was dangerous—too dangerous, and I had the uneasy feeling they were setting her up for a big fall.

“What happened?” Jahn tossed the bar rag over his shoulder and rummaged through the bottles on the shelves behind the counter. He held up a clear bottle, filled with a chocolate brown liqueur. “Here, try this. Straight from the Nebelvuori Mountains.”

“Dwarven? Won’t that be a little raw?”

He grinned. “Dwarves may be crude in the bedroom and at the dinner table, but they like their liquor, so the drink should be smooth and rich.”

I actually laughed for the first time in days. “Set me up, babe,” I said, resting my elbows on the counter as I glanced around the bar. Still no sign of Roche. He was supposed to be here. My supervisor had practically guaranteed it. And I had a tight deadline. Find the perv before he struck again.

He shook his head as he filled a small cognac glass. “You use the oddest expressions, Camille. But they fit you somehow.”

“I have my mother to thank for that. She was human, you know, and she kept some ties over Earthside.” And I missed her more than I could ever say. It had been years since she died, but her loss still left a gaping hole in our family that no one could fill, no matter how hard they tried.

“I remember her. She was a lovely woman, with gracious manners. So, you ever think you’ll go Earthside when the portals are finally open to travelers?” Jahn pushed the glass my way and rested his elbows on the counter. His eyes were warm. He was one of the few friends I could count on who really gave a damn about my sisters and me.

I snorted. “Are you kidding? Hell, I have a hard enough time coping with one world, let alone two.” But I lingered over the thought. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Seeing my mother’s homeworld might help me understand why she’d been the way she’d been. I had a while to think about it, though. The project would take a number of years to complete.

Jahn motioned for me to drink up. I tossed a coin on the counter and inhaled the aroma whirling up from the glass. One long whiff filled my nose with the fragrance of harvest time, and moss and trees and stone circles.

“You sure the dwarves made this?”

“I know. I was surprised, too,” he said. “I gather they’ve discovered some new process or something for distilling the brew. Nobody’s talking secrets, though. Taste it. I think you’ll be in for a surprise.”

I brought the crystal to my lips and took a sip. The flavors of warm honey and cinnamon raced down my throat, and then—an aftertaste of galangal and oats and . . . kirmeth? A potent flower bud, kirmeth produced a stiff kick when added to alcohol.

Coughing, I wiped my eyes, trying not to smear the kohl. “Whoa . . . this is a damned sight better than anything I’ve had lately. Pour me another, please.”

He filled another glass and shoved it my way. “What’s got you so wound up? You’ve been coming in here all tight and tense this whole week. You act like you’re hunting for something, and I know you haven’t found what you’re looking for.”

He reached out and took one of my hands in his. His skin was rough and his face was scarred. I wondered what battles he’d seen in his younger days.

“Sweetie, it’s no wonder the men are scared shitless of you. They want you, don’t get me wrong, but that glint in your eyes promises you’ll take down the next man who even looks at you wrong.”

I slugged the rest of my drink and pushed back the glass, toying with the second drink. As much as I wished I could tell him, I was under wraps. Agents of the YIA were sworn to secrecy, except to one another. Even though Jahn had been a friend of the family since before I was born, I couldn’t confide in him. So I lied.

“Family stuff. Father’s on a tear about the gardens again. Mother loved them. But I don’t have the time to keep them up like she did, and I really don’t have her green thumb. I can grow herbs—some, for my magic. But I’d rather talk to them than tend them.”

“Green thumb?” He looked perplexed.

“Mother was able to grow things . . . like an herbalist. Anyway, so he’s pissed about that. And I’m worried about Menolly.” I stopped, frowning. And here we come to another problem, folks—my sister and the YIA’s unrelenting use of her in dangerous cases, thanks to her innate abilities to sneak into places and climb walls and so forth.

“What’s she done now?” Jahn knew all about Menolly’s propensity for getting into trouble.

“It isn’t what she’s done, it’s what . . . Oh, it’s confidential. Let’s just say I don’t trust the mission she’s been assigned to. I have a really bad feeling about this one, Jahn, but there’s nothing I can do. We can’t refuse our assignments.”

I shifted on the bar stool, my body aching. It had been weeks since I’d had sex, at least with anybody other than my own hand. Or even a decent date. The last guy bailed on me when he found out I was half-human. Damned bigots.

Jahn noticed. He leaned closer and whispered, “I thought that’s what was wrong with you. I’ll take you home, darlin’. I’d jump your bones in a second if you’d let me.”

That smarted. Not the fact that Jahn looked at me that way. I was flattered, actually, because he was a worldly, seasoned traveler who had finally settled down after a volatile career on a fishing boat up in the tumultuous Wyvern Ocean.

No, what smarted was that here I was, young, unattached, pretty—or so I was told, reasonably intelligent, hardworking, and willing . . . and nobody had looked my way in over three months. Well, nobody that I was interested in. Race didn’t matter. I’d dated a dwarf a few years back, a giant, even an elf, but lately it felt like I’d been classified as untouchable.

I stared at the bartender, mulling over his offer. Roche wasn’t around and I might as well give up the hunt for the night. A fling with Jahn might be just what I needed. He was rugged and I had no doubt he knew how to use his hands—and everything else, as well. But he’d been after me for years and there was something a little creepy about sleeping with my father’s friend. And Father would be livid. You just don’t fuck old friends’ daughters.

He leaned on the polished mahogany counter next to my drink. “You’ll walk away more than satisfied.”

Slowly, I reached out to run my fingers lightly over the top of his hand. “I’m incredibly flattered . . . I know you see beautiful women in here day after day. But I don’t—”

“Stop. Just think about it for a moment,” Jahn said, slowly pulling his hand away. “I’ll make you come like you’ve never come before.”

He turned to another customer as I sat there, playing with my drink. I was so tense, so in need of release, but something just didn’t feel right about accepting Jahn’s proposal.

“I don’t think I can do it,” I whispered, staring at my glass.

“You can do anything you set your mind to.” That voice—Mr. Silk on Satin. Once again, something in his tone made me tremble.

I darted a glance to my right. Sure enough, it was the beautiful man again. “And who are you, to be interrupting my thoughts? And my fights?”

He arched an eyebrow and motioned to Jahn, who had just returned. The bartender’s expression clouded over.

“Sonyun Brandy. Warmed over a slow flame, please.” As the man tossed a handful of coins on the bar, he added, “ And another drink for the lady.”

I was about to protest, but another glimpse of those baby blues shut me up.

“I take it you’re alone tonight?” he asked, turning back to me.

And then, I saw it—the sparkle of fire, the hint of magic. The man bled charm like a bee tree oozed honey.

He wasn’t a wizard, nor a witch nor a mage. A sorcerer? No, I’d sense the magic. Nor did he look like royalty. Sometimes the nobles of the Court slummed in the nightclubs, picking up lovers to use and abuse. I couldn’t figure out what game he was playing, but he intrigued me. I decided to accept his challenge. I’d learned to bluff from the best.

As Jahn let out an irritated grunt and moved off to warm up the man’s brandy, I suddenly remembered his offer. Shit, I was being rude, and to a sweet guy, at that. But ignoring the man sitting next to me would be as hard as ignoring the pressure between my thighs.

I shifted on the bar stool. “Am I alone? That depends on who’s asking. And you haven’t answered my question yet.”

The man smirked. “No, I haven’t. Consider it a lesson in patience, which you obviously need, the way you’re fidgeting in your seat.”

Blushing, I slammed down my drink and stood. I leaned close and whispered, “You might like to play with pussycats, but you’re not getting near mine. Not unless you can give me a damned good reason.”

As I started for the door he reached out and lightly placed two fingers on my arm, not holding me, just ever-so-slightly touching. A ripple raced through my body. I grabbed for the counter, steadying myself as he swung in behind me and rested a hand on my side—tracing the curve of my waist with the lightest of pressure.

“Leaving so soon, beautiful?” he whispered, leaning close to my ear. “I was just starting to enjoy myself. I don’t often meet women who can hold their own. I hope you aren’t offended that I interfered in your tête-à-tête back there. I have no doubt you would have taken that idiot down alone, but I can’t stand louts. They offend my senses.”

The breath from his lips washed over my neck and I pressed my thighs together. I’d met plenty of gorgeous Fae over the years—hell, I was half-Fae myself and knew how to use glamour, but this was more than glamour. This was like being swept out to sea by a riptide of hunger. I wanted to strip naked and throw him down on the counter.

“Camille? Can I speak to you? Alone.” Jahn set a snifter of brandy on the counter. “Here’s your brandy. Why don’t you let the lady go?”

Without missing a beat, the dark man said, “Mind your business, barkeep. She’s a grown woman. She’ll tell me if she wants me to leave her alone.”

I didn’t move.

“Camille, please, I need to talk to you.” Jahn gave me a strained look and I reluctantly broke away. In a fog, I followed him to the end of the counter.

“That’s the man who helped me out. Do you know him?”

“Oh, lovely.” Jahn narrowed his eyes. “Not by name, but he’s a Svartan. Surely you know what that means, girl.”

I frowned, thinking for a moment, then understanding broke through. A Svartan . . . one of the Charming Fae, as cunning in nature as they are sexual. As predatory as they are suave.

“I didn’t realize . . .” I glanced back at the man, who raised his snifter in salute, then took a long, slow sip.

Jahn let out a little groan. “Girl, promise me you aren’t going to sleep with him. Please? Even if you don’t sleep with me, for the love of the gods, do not get mixed up with the likes of him.”

I listened to what he was saying. I really did. But the entire time, my gaze was fastened on the Svartan. After a moment, I let out a little sigh. Roche wasn’t here and he wasn’t going to come. Not tonight. Another wild-goose chase. Another black mark against my name.

“I think I’d better go home for the night,” I said, feeling defeated. “Thank you, Jahn, for everything.”

As I gathered my purse and turned to go, I realized that I couldn’t just leave it at that. Feeling Jahn’s disapproving stare follow me, I walked back to the Svartan and deliberately laid one hand on his arm.

He glanced down at my hand, then up to meet my eyes. “Yes?”

“Camille te Maria. I’m in here a lot. Next time—and I trust there will be a next time—ask before you intervene.” I sauntered toward the curtains cordoning off the exit, then paused in midstep to call over my shoulder. “Remember, stranger. You still owe me your name.”

As I swept out the door, I could feel him watching me. But I didn’t look back.

“WHAT do you know about the Svartans?” I asked my father that evening after dinner.

Sephreh ob Tanu jerked his head up from where he was polishing his dress sword, his brow lined, a worried look in his eyes. They reflected the violet of my own, and his hair was the same color as mine—raven black and woven in a shoulder-length braid. I took after him. My sister Delilah took after our mother—golden-haired and tanned, and Menolly . . . well, no one knew where her burnished copper locks came from.

“What have you gone and done now?” He sounded positively overjoyed. Not.

I shrugged. Father was cagey. I’d have to walk softly because I could already sense the storm brewing in his voice.

“I saw one in the club tonight.” With a little luck, Jahn wouldn’t breathe a word to Father about my interaction with Tall, Dark, and Dangerous. He’d keep his mouth shut because he’d be too afraid I’d mention his offer, and we both knew my father well enough to know just how that would go over. Old friends don’t fuck other friends’ daughters. At least not without permission.

With a look that said I know you’re up to something but I don’t know what, Father shook his head. “Leave the man alone. They’re all a bunch of perverts. You know the city of Svartalfheim rests in the Subterranean Realms.”

“I’ve heard rumors about the entire city migrating back to Otherworld.”

“Wonderful. That’s just what we need. If they do, I’ll guarantee they’ll bring a host of demons swarming with them.”

“The demons can’t get through the portals,” I said. “They’re barred.”

“So they say, but I’m not too sure about that.” He grunted, then after a moment, cleared his throat. “Your sister Delilah needs to start dressing like a lady, at least for your aunt Olanda’s visit. Take her shopping. Get her out of trousers and tunics, please.” He gave me the once-over. “You’re fine. Menolly, too. But . . .”

“Delilah’s a tomboy and you know it,” I said, laughing. “Those dresses will last a couple of days and then you’ll never see them again. But yeah, I’ll add that to my to-do list.”

Father put down his sword and leaned back in his chair, crossing his right leg across his left. He was a handsome man, looking barely older than the three of us. Full-blooded Fae, he would age far slower than we until we drank the nectar of life. But that wouldn’t be for some time yet. We were forbidden to touch it for now.

It was easy to see why Mother had followed him home from Earthside. She’d fallen for him before he ever kissed her, before he told her he loved her, and they’d been devoted to each other, right until the end.

“Camille, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.” Sephreh looked uncomfortable. “Your mother provided for you over Earthside. You have means there, should you ever need it. But here . . . I’ve put aside what I can for the three of you, but it isn’t much.”

I frowned. “What do you mean? You’re not sick, are you?” I slid down to his feet and rested my head against his knee, stabbed by a sudden fear. We couldn’t lose both of them.

He shook his head and patted my hair. “No, I haven’t taken ill. I’m talking about the fact that, by your age, girls normally start thinking about marriage and everything that comes with it—security, a title, convenience . . . I’m just not sure . . .”

“How well we’ll fare in that department?” As I spoke, he grimaced and I knew what was bugging him. “You’re afraid no one will marry us because we’re half-breeds?”

He jumped up, grabbed my shoulders, and lifted me to my feet. Tipping my chin up, he stared at me, his eyes flashing. “Never call yourself that. Never, ever demean yourself. You are half-human. Your mother was human and she was the most wonderful woman in the world. In either world. You will not be ashamed of your heritage. I’m not ashamed of you or your sisters. I’m proud of the three of you, and I know you do your best to make me proud. Do you understand?”

Shaken, I nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . what I meant was—if someone can’t handle our lineage, then they can go fuck themselves. None of us will ever marry a bigot. Besides, I’m never getting married. I like my freedom too much.” I grinned, trying to take the edge off his worry.

Father searched my eyes. After a moment, he laughed and kissed the top of my head. “You take after me, girl,” he said, returning to polishing his silver sword. “You prefer sex to breathing. Sometimes I wish you’d taken after your mother like Delilah. I think she’ll have an easier road to walk than you will. As for Menolly, it’s anybody’s guess.”

I was about to ask if he ever thought of remarrying but stopped myself. There were some places still too painful to tread.

2

THE next day, Menolly, Delilah, and I headed out for work together. Delilah was a few years younger than I, and her waist-length hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Tall—six foot one—she was so athletic she put me to shame. A real tomboy, she was in and out of trees like I was in and out of the shops. She was also a werecat and had a yowl that could wake the dead, especially during the nights leading up to the full moon.

Menolly, on the other hand, barely grazed my nose. Petite with a cloud of coppery curls that traced halfway down her back, she was the perfect acrobat. Well, almost perfect. We all had problems thanks to our half-human heritage.

My magic fritzed out at the most unexpected of times, and sometimes backfired in painful and embarrassing ways. Menolly could balance on her toes on a tightwire, but one short circuit and she’d go tumbling down the front steps. And Delilah shifted into tabby cat form, but she couldn’t always control when she made the transformation.

We weren’t the best employees the Y’Elestrial Intelligence Agency had, but they couldn’t say we weren’t loyal, or enthusiastic. Our father was a captain in the Guard Des’Estar. We’d joined the YIA to make him proud.

The YIA headquarters were in the palace. A monolithic tribute to overkill, the palace made me cringe. The architecture was beautiful, but thanks to the tastes of our queen, the whole effect came off as tacky.

Minarets jutted into the sky, their spires flying the flags of Y’Elestrial and Queen Lethesanar. Five flights of steps led up to the massive doors guarded by men strong enough to squash a goblin’s head with their bare hands. Paired with wizards, they kept an eye out for magical intruders.

We stopped at the doors to show our credentials, then hurried through the doors toward the wing reserved for the agency. Clerks and scribes scurried every which way, their arms filled with paperwork and scrolls and books. Every now and then another agent would rush by, waving on the fly. We crowded into the briefing room to pick up our notes and assignments for the day.

Menolly grimaced as she was handed a single sheet of paper. “I knew it. Damn it, I wish they’d get off their butts and give me some help.” She glanced around, making sure nobody was within earshot.

“Why bother whispering?” I snorted. “We’re being eavesdropped on anyway. There are plenty of spies around and I have no doubt our supervisors can hear everything we say. Today’s whine is tomorrow’s whipping stick.” I glanced at my own assignment sheet. “Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” Delilah asked.

“My supervisor wants to see me. Again.” I crumpled the paper.

Menolly shook her head. “Better that than my day. They’ve got me scheduled to sneak directly into the heart of the Elwing Blood Clan’s nest. I’ve been putting it off, hoping they’ll give me some backup. The damned job’s just too dangerous to tackle alone. I think I can wrangle another couple weeks of research but after that . . . I’ll have to either cave or quit.”

“Maybe they think you’re the best choice for the job,” Delilah said, ever the optimist.

“Don’t bet on it,” I muttered. “I get the feeling they’re deliberately trying to trip us up. You know, force us to screw up so badly they can fire us. That way, we couldn’t lodge a complaint.”

“You really think they’re trying to get rid of us?” Delilah asked.

I shrugged. “Maybe. I do know that the assignment they’ve given me sucks. I’m supposed to find Roche, and all their leads are bogus. If I don’t find him soon, they’ll chalk up another failure on my record and absolve themselves of the problem.”

“You think they might be looking the other way since he’s a member of the Guard? Mother used to call it the good ol’ boy system.” Menolly was even more cynical than I was.

“I have no idea,” I said, stopping as we turned down the hall leading toward the Special Investigations Unit. “Look—what’s that?”

An unused wing of the unit was in the process of being furnished, and the movers were carrying in desks and chairs and an interesting supply of magical instruments. The placard on the wall next to the main office door read OIA.

“What the hell is the OIA?” I asked.

“I dunno,” Menolly said, brushing her hair back behind her ears. “All I know is that I didn’t get enough to eat at breakfast and as soon as we leave here, I’m heading down to the Naori Clipper to snag myself a bowl of chowder and a loaf of bread.”

I came to my stop and blew a kiss to my sisters. “Be good. I’ll see you for dinner. If you get home before I do, tell Cook to start roasting the chickens.” They waved as I opened the door and slipped inside Lathe’s office.

My supervisor was younger than me, and he was on a continual tear because I refused to fuck him. Even though he was cute, work and sex just weren’t a great combo, and besides that, I’d heard about his peculiar habits. I enjoyed kink but I didn’t enjoy pain and humiliation. Apparently, he was adept at both. So I danced around his advances and he kept giving me shit jobs. One of these days, I’d take it over his head, but that would cause a firestorm I just didn’t feel like weathering at this point.

“What the hell’s going on?” I said, marching into his office. He was leaning back in his chair, his feet propped on the walnut desk. His clothing was meticulous, as usual. He narrowed his eyes and slowly lowered his feet, motioning for me to sit opposite him.

“You find Roche yet?” He was mocking me. He knew I hadn’t, and he knew that I wouldn’t be able to without some legitimate help.

“Roche still has friends in the Guard Des’Estar, friends who wouldn’t mind helping him even with the crimes he’s committed. For all I know, you’re in on this sham of an investigation.” I squinted, wondering how far I could push his buttons before he freaked. Not that I really cared, but I didn’t want to disappoint Father by getting myself fired.

Lathe sauntered around the desk, closing the door to the hall. He stood behind my chair and I felt a hand on my shoulder, his fingers gently massaging beneath the straps of my bustier.

“Life could be so much simpler if you’d just learn to compromise,” he whispered, nuzzling my neck. I tried to shake him away but he held my shoulders tightly, squeezing so hard it hurt. “You could go a long ways in the agency, and I’d be a good ally to have.”

“Uh-huh . . . tell me another one. And my heritage isn’t going to make any difference, as long as I fuck your brains out, right?”

“Little girl, you’ve got a lot to learn,” he said, kissing my ear. “I won’t approve any transfer, promotion, or anything unless you learn to cooperate. And by cooperate, I mean suck my cock. Got it?”

I stared at the floor, cheeks flaming. I loved sex, but this was force coercion. I refused to be pushed. And regardless, I didn’t mix business and pleasure. Father raised us to take pride in our work and do our best. He didn’t raise us to whore ourselves for a promotion.

Shaking off Lathe’s hand, I stood and slowly turned to face him.

“I have an idea.” I slowly jabbed him in the chest with one finger. “Why don’t you go buy a whore down in the Dives? I’m sure you can find someone willing to let you fuck her up the ass or beat her black and blue if you pay her enough. But it’s not going to be me.”

“You’ve just sealed your fate, lovely,” he said, his eyes flashing. For a moment I thought he was going to fire me, or strike me down—he was an accomplished mage—but instead he returned to his seat.

“Either you find Roche in a week, or I’ll make an example of you in front of the whole agency. You’ll be so embarrassed you won’t be able to hold your head up in public after I’m done with you.”

I planted my hands on his desk. “I’ll find Roche, all right. But make no mistake—I’m not doing it because I’m afraid of you. I’ll drag him in because he’s a pervert and a murderer.” And then, because I was my mother’s daughter as well as my father’s, I added, “So take your short, scrawny dick and get it the fuck out of my face.”

As I slammed out of his door, I knew I’d just made one of the worst enemies of my life.

AS I headed out of the building, I made my way toward the Collequia. I needed help, and I knew where to get it. Jahn could scare up anyone a girl needed, including spies, wizards, and seers. Until now, I’d been avoiding asking for outside help because of the agency’s privacy policies, but fuck it. Lathe had pushed me too far.

Jahn was behind the bar, dividing packets of opium and kysa—the poor man’s version of the drug. He glanced up as I entered.

“You’re early, girl. Something wrong?”

“My prick of a boss is what’s wrong. You have anything to eat back there?” It was too early for a drink, and my stomach was rumbling.

“Nut bread and cheese okay?”

I nodded and he pulled out a wooden tray that held a loaf of nut bread and a round of cheese.

He tossed me a knife. “Help yourself. I was going to eat that for lunch but I’ll pick up something else.”

I sliced into the fragrant bread, inhaling deeply as the scent of hazelnuts rose in a wisp of steam. The cheese was soft as I sliced into it and spread it on the bread. As I took a bite, the sweetness of the nut meal drizzled down my throat.

“Good.” I licked my fingers. “Who made this? Your wife?”

Jahn shook his head. “No, she’s been living with her lover the past moon cycle. I don’t know when—or if—she’s coming back. I think she prefers dandies. He’s a tailor. I ever tell you that?”

A tailor? I couldn’t see any woman leaving Jahn for a tailor, but then again, tailors knew how to use their hands so maybe she’d been missing out on something from the club owner’s calloused hands.

“I can give you the recipe if you like,” he added.

“Cook will appreciate that,” I said, licking my fingers. “I need your help.”

He glanced up, pushing the drugs aside. “What’s going on?”

“I need to find somebody. And I need to find him as soon as possible. He’s dangerous. He was a member of the Guard till he got kicked out, and rumor has it he’s been hanging out here.” I hesitated, then added, “My job’s on the line. If I don’t find this creep, my boss will humiliate me unless I fuck him to shut him up. And that would be a far worse punishment.”

Jahn grunted and gave me a nod. “What’s the guy’s name and what did he do?”

“Roche. Roche ob Vanu. He was a member of the Des’Estar until he murdered his wife, his brother, and a few other innocents along the way. He’s gone on a rampage. Raped five women so far, and murdered four of them. We know it’s him because his magical signature is all over the case.” I frowned, then added, “Do you have a bowl of water?”

“Yeah, hold on.” Jahn slipped into a back room and returned with a silver bowl.

I glanced around the bar. At this time of morning, it was almost empty. I pulled the bowl to me and slowly breathed on the water. The energy of the Moon Mother coiled within me as I coaxed it awake, wending its way up my spine. A river of molten silver, it spread through the cells of my body, circling the spiraling tattoo on my shoulder blade. I slowly exhaled and a sparkling mist covered the water in the bowl, settling over the top of it like a thick fog on the lake.

Jahn gave a little gasp, but said nothing.

I glanced up at him, then back at the bowl and lowered my hand toward the mist, whispering softly. “Mist of the mountain, mist of the moon, show me the face of the one whom I seek. Moon Mother, grant me the power.”

And then, the mist parted, rolling to the sides of the bowl, and there—in the water, was the face of the man I was hunting. Roche. He looked harsh, with a jagged scar over one eye that gave him a roguish look.

“Now show us his true face,” I whispered, and waved my hand again. And the face in the water shifted, taking on a cruel, vindictive leer as his inner nature rose to the surface.

Jahn took a quick step back. “He’s been in here, all right. I know that face, but I had no idea he was a member of the Guard Des’Estar. He’s a bad one.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Three nights ago. He paid for a whore—the youngest we have, but she wasn’t young enough for him and I had to stop him from beating her.” Jahn grimaced, a look of distaste on his face. “I won’t hire women who are under the age of consent.”

“You’re a good man, Jahn. And you haven’t seen him since?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been back. I spend most of my time behind the bar, not waiting tables, you know.” He stared at the face still lingering in the water. “Next time I see him, I’ll get word to you as soon as I can. You say he’s a murderer?”

“Rape, murder, torture. A lot of things you don’t want to know about,” I said. “I wish I could cast a spell of Finding, but my magic doesn’t always work right. I’m sure you’ve heard about that.”

“Yes, darlin’, I’ve heard,” Jahn said. He stopped suddenly, staring at the door. I heard it open as someone came in. “Damn it, what’s he doing back here?”

I knew who it was. Without even seeing his face, his energy swirled in ahead of him like a whirlwind. The golden man. The man with jet skin and silver hair. The Svartan. And then, without a sound, he was standing next to me, staring at the scrying bowl. He looked from it, to me, then back to it.

“Hunting?” he asked, his voice lazy.

I slowly turned my head to lock his gaze. “What business is it of yours?”

“I’ve seen your prey. Last night, as it so happens.” He slid onto the bar stool and casually snagged a handful of nuts from the bowl on the counter.

“Where?” I clenched my fists on the counter. “What price do you want for the information?”

Jahn put his hand on mine. “Darlin’, don’t go doing business with his kind—”

“Excuse me, barkeep, but perhaps you’ll answer a question.” The Svartan’s voice was smooth.

“What is it?” Jahn glared at him.

“If you disapprove so much of me, why do you continue to accept my money?” The Svartan gave him a faint smile, both derisive and yet challenging.

Jahn’s eyes were cold but he turned away. “Camille, use your head. I know you’ve got one. You’re too smart for the likes of him.”

The Svartan slowly swiveled to face me. “I don’t need your money. But if you would accompany me to luncheon, I’d consider that acceptable payment.”

My father would have a fit, but I wanted the information and this man could tell me what I needed to know. And I wanted to know more about him. He was hot, he fascinated me, and we had some odd connection—I could feel it there, hanging between us, though I had no idea just how or why it had formed.

I swung off my bar stool and smoothed my skirt. “I don’t accept dinner invitations from nameless strangers.”

He smiled then, a smile to melt the coldest of ice statues. His teeth gleamed, sparkling white. “The name is Trillian.”

As he offered me his arm, I slowly placed my hand on his elbow and he escorted me out of the bar. Deep inside, I could feel a whisper saying I’d just sealed my fate.

THE afternoon sun beat down, the dusky scent of summer wafting through the streets. Y’Elestrial was beautiful. Buildings of marble and stone stretched along the neatly patterned streets. Carts clattered past us, horses’ hooves clicking delicately as they trotted along the cobblestones. Flocks of pedestrians milled through the thoroughfares, hurrying on their way to wherever they had to go.

We turned down the road leading to the central market where the vendors opened at sunrise and closed after sunset. Most lived in their stalls, spending their money on brandy and wine, sleeping off one drunken stupor after another under the canopies and awnings. Unlike regular shopkeepers, they were vagabonds—their wagons their only homes.

Bees droned their way past, lazily hunting through the flower arrangements that were for sale. The cadence of the vendors hawking their wares and of haggling customers filled the street with a cacophony of noise . . . an argument over the price of starflowers at one stall, quibbling over a bone pipe at another, women bargaining for fresh meat at the butchers’ kiosks. The collision of voices and sounds sent a bustling energy through the air.

The vast market was four blocks long. Eventually we came to the end and exited onto a smaller side street. Trillian pointed toward a low building with a sign that read THE STEAK AND ALE.

As I pushed through the door, the aroma of sizzling beef caught me short. My stomach rumbled and I let out a grateful, “Oh, that smells good.”

Trillian returned my smile, winking slyly. “You’re hungry.” It wasn’t a question.

I nodded. “I didn’t get a chance to eat breakfast this morning. I was running late, and the nut bread Jahn gave me only took the edge off my hunger.”

He led me over to a private booth and we slid into the upholstered seats on either side of the table, illuminated by a honeycombed candle, its wax fragrant and inviting. Trillian didn’t speak until the serving girl approached. She blushed when she saw him. I realized he must have that effect on a lot of women.

“We have good beef today,” she said. “And rosemary potatoes, fresh bread, and strawberry jam. Will that do?”

Trillian glanced at me.

I nodded. “I’d like a glass of water, please.”

“Would you prefer wine?” he asked. I shook my head and the girl moved off to place our order.

“All right,” I said after a moment. “I’m having lunch with you. Tell me what you know of Roche.”

He gazed at me for a moment, not speaking, then softly said, “And so swiftly she veers to the contract.”

“It’s just . . . I need to know about him,” I said, suddenly feeling rude. He’d been nothing but a gentleman so far. Since I was using him to get to Roche, the least I could do was extend a hand in peace. “I’m sorry. This is so very important. I have to catch this man.”

Trillian rested his elbows on the table, leaning toward me. “I assume you work for the YIA. You don’t have the look, but I recognize the harried expression. Don’t worry—” he said, fending off my protest. “I’m not asking you to answer, just speculating.”

I let out a long sigh. “You speculate right. And my neck is on the line if I don’t bring in this guy. My boss is doing everything he can to prevent me from succeeding.” Suddenly, I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t care who heard me, or whether it cost me my job. I was tired of fighting, tired of being the scapegoat.

Trillian cocked his head to the side and slid his hands across the table, gently taking hold of mine. The feel of his skin against mine sparked like oil on flame. My nipples pressed against the lace of my bustier, the material suddenly feeling harsh and arousing. The spark traced a fuse that led down through my stomach to settle between my thighs.

His fingers, so dark against mine, were like coffee on cream, soft and velvety smooth. He slowly turned my palm face-up and rubbed the tip of one index finger against the cup of my hand, tracing the lines that creased my flesh. Every touch unsettled me. I clenched my thighs together, trying to hide my arousal, but I couldn’t pull away. I didn’t want to.

“Your supervisor seeks to fail you because you are de’estial?” Again, the silken voice.

I raised my eyes to meet his. He’d used the Sidhe term for a phrase that meant “walker of two paths,” but I knew he was talking about my heritage. But usually, the word de’estial was given as an honor, not used when referring to a half-breed like myself. I searched his face, but there was no hint of repulsion, no sign that he looked down on me because of my human heritage.

Slowly, I nodded. “That, and he wants to sleep with me, and I won’t comply.”

Trillian pursed his lips, but a ripple of laughter broke free. “I can understand why he would want you,” he said. “But a real man never forces a woman, even when he has the opportunity. Even when he has the power to enslave her against his will.” He stood and leaned over the table, his face mere inches from mine. “There is no pleasure in a hollow victory, is there?”

Mesmerized, I shook my head. All of Jahn’s warnings were screaming at me, along with my father’s worries, but I swept them aside. Svartan he might be, but I could sense when people lied to me. And Trillian wasn’t lying. Maybe he was prettying up his words, but outright deceit? No, I’d bet my paycheck that he meant what he said.

I realized I was clutching his hands now, holding them tight. Another glance into his eyes told me he was aware of my hunger. I slowly let go, forcing myself to sit back in the booth as I tried to catch my breath.

The serving girl brought our meals and Trillian paid her.

“Eat. I’m starving.” He handed me the bread. I tore off a chunk and then pushed the rest across the table. “So you are looking for this man Roche. You work for the YIA. He’s a fugitive?”

Grateful for the change in subject, I nodded. “Yes, he’s sadistic, a rapist and murderer. My job is to catch him, but none of the leads panned out. I can only hope this perv stumbles across my path. That is, unless I can come up with some clues on my own. Ones I know aren’t fabricated.”

“Perv?” Trillian looked confused.

“Pervert. Twisted—in a bad way. It’s an Earthside term. My mother was human.” I stopped buttering the piece of bread I was holding.

“Was, as in she’s dead?”

“She died when my sisters and I were young. She fell off a horse and broke her neck. I miss her.”

Surprised, I felt tears well up. Every now and then, the memory of her death hit me in just the wrong way, but I was usually alone and locked in my room when it happened. Delilah and Menolly counted on me to be the strong one. I’d taken over when Mother died, and now I was mistress of the household. It was my duty to remain the anchor and support.

I tried to swallow my sadness, but one tear broke free and traced its way down my cheek. I started to look away, but his hand was suddenly cupping my chin and his eyes were surprisingly gentle as he once again leaned across the table and gently kissed the tear away. He didn’t try to kiss me on the mouth, but settled back into his seat.

“Some hurts can never be mended,” he said. “No matter how much time passes. They tattoo themselves on our souls.”

I wasn’t sure what to say, so merely bit into my food. The beef was rich and juicy, the potatoes a savory burst of flavor in my mouth.

“As I told you back in the bar, last night I saw the man you are seeking. He was in the marketplace, at the gambler’s tent.” Trillian took a sip of his water, then buttered another piece of bread. “He was involved in a game of q’aresh. He’ll be back there tonight.”

“What makes you think so?” I asked.

“He lost a great deal of money and became extremely vocal. He wanted a young girl that the marketer was offering as part of the wager. Your quarry appears to be on the obsessive side. The dealer told him to return when he could afford a rematch. Roche said he’d return this evening. I’m guessing he’ll show up to see if the girl’s still there.” Trillian pushed aside his plate. “So tonight, we’ll go see if we can catch ourselves a murderer.”

I stared at him. “We’ll go? Why would you want to go with me? This could be dangerous, and you have nothing to gain.”

Trillian slid out of the booth and held out his hand. “I’ll go with you because you need help. I’ll go with you because I detest men who refuse to acknowledge the value of women. I’ll help you because men who rape children and get their rocks off on hurting innocent women deserve to die.”

As I listened to that velvet voice, the arrogance and sardonic façade fell away and I saw the man behind the mask. Beneath his jaded exterior, Trillian was a man who loved women. Who didn’t count them by their heritage or status. He was dangerous and cruel, but only to those who gave him a reason to fight.

I placed my hands on his shoulders, feeling the well-toned biceps that were hidden beneath the meticulous tunic.

Trillian waited, his luminous blue eyes gazing down into my own dark ones. The invitation was there—unspoken, but there.

As I raised up on the tips of my toes, pressing my lips against his, he wrapped his arms around me and I surrendered myself to his embrace.

3

HIS caress enveloped me with the most glorious glow I’d ever felt, and his lips were soft, like golden taffy. He gently parted my lips with his tongue and all thoughts as to why this might not be a good idea fled.

As he tightened his embrace, I could feel the outline of him pressing through his trousers, hard and eager, but he didn’t push, didn’t grind against me like some men would have.

After a moment, I needed to catch my breath. As if reading my mind, he loosened his pressure on my lips. I quickly gulped air before once again, his mouth was on mine, his tongue playing lightly over mine. His touch navigated a serpentine path up my spine as he pressed his hand to my lower back. Then, slowly, he began to withdraw, easing his hands off me, pulling back inch by inch.

I caught a ragged breath and stared at him. What the hell? I’d never felt such an intense kiss. Out of my mind with lust, I wanted his hands on my naked body, his fingers to slide over my breasts, along my stomach, to whisper their secrets between my thighs. The thought of him inside me electrified my body, and every muscle began to ache, I wanted him so much.

He held up one hand. “Before this goes any further, let me warn you. If you sleep with me, you may find it hard to walk away. I’m one of the Charming Fae. Our bodies are saturated with sexual magic, and very few are immune to the effect. Make no mistake, if you fuck me, this will be more than a casual bedding.”

I didn’t know what to say. I’d heard the rumors but they’d seemed exaggerated. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

As he stepped back, part of me ripped away with him. “Don’t answer. I can wait, and I refuse to hurry your decision. Go do what you need to do, and tonight, when the sun sets, meet me at the front entrance of the Marketplace. We’ll find your prey and take him down.”

He leaned in for another kiss, then stopped. When I moved toward him, he shook his head. “Not yet. Think it over, and then think it over again. The choice is yours. I want you, make no mistake about it. But you’re the one who has to extend the offer.” And then he turned and quickly slipped out the door.

I caught up with Delilah and Menolly a few hours before dinner. Mother kept an anniversary clock from over Earthside on the mantel and though our time-telling system was different, we had learned both and used them interchangeably.

We strolled down the street toward Lake Y’Leveshan, which was located at the southeastern end of the city. Midwinter and midsummer holidays were spent around the lake. Huge, it stretched so far, the other side was a distant blur. Boats dotted the surface, their crews angling for fish to sell in the markets.

The shoreline was surrounded by lush vegetation. Long-bladed grass, knee high, grew thick around the lake, and the clearing was dappled with copses of maple and weeping willow, birch and rowan and wild camaz trees. The buzzing of gnats and bumblebees filled the air, along with the ever-present birdsong. A lazy spell held sway around the docks.

Delilah swung herself into the lower branches of a nearby oak tree. She dangled her legs over the edge and brushed away a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail. “I love afternoons like this. I just hope the agency doesn’t find out we’re slacking.”

“Who gives a damn?” I asked. “I don’t care anymore. They’re squeezing us by the balls. If they fire me, I’ll just say good riddance. But listen, I think I’m actually on the heels of Roche.”

I wanted to tell them about Trillian, but somehow I didn’t think the news would go over big. Especially if Father found out. Maybe it was best to let it rest until I knew just how far this relationship was going to go.

Menolly stretched out in the grass and propped herself up on her elbows. Her shift was loose and filmy, and her hair cascaded down her back. Nobody knew where her red had come from, but the copper curls gleamed in the sun as she closed her eyes against the warmth of the light.

“I love days like today,” she said, sucking in a long, slow breath of summer. “It feels like the sun is sinking into my bones.” With a sigh, she added, “HQ wants me to scout the outskirts of the cave. I think I can hold them off for another few days or so—perhaps two weeks. But eventually, I’ll either have to finish the mission or quit. I wish I didn’t feel so bound to the damned job.”

“You’re really are going to have to make up your mind pretty soon about what to do,” I said. “As for me, tonight I’m going to check out a clue to Roche’s whereabouts.”

“You want company?” Menolly asked. “I’d be glad to go with you.”

“Me too,” Delilah added. “I could use a night on the town.”

I scrambled onto a flat boulder and crossed my legs, trying to think of a way to say no without making them suspicious. “Maybe . . . but don’t you have class tonight, Menolly?”

She grunted. Menolly attended a twice-weekly intensive workshop for acrobats and gymnasts in the agency to keep in shape. “Yeah. Thanks for reminding me.”

“And somebody better be home to eat dinner with Father. You know how he gets about family meals.” I glanced over at Delilah. She rolled her eyes but nodded. “I’ll be okay, don’t worry. Jahn’s helping me.” A little white lie, though technically Jahn had helped me. Or at least he’d tried to.

Menolly darted a quick glance my way. “Jahn? Don’t tell me you’re taking up with that lecher? He’s been after you since you first hit womanhood.”

I grinned at her. “Better not let Father hear you talk about Jahn that way. He thinks the man can do no wrong, and frankly, there are far worse businesses than being a nightclub and brothel owner. At least he treats the women under his roof with care and compassion. But you’re right. He’s been after me for a long time. He’s not my type, though. He’s sweet, but . . . no . . .” Jahn paled in comparison to Trillian.

Delilah swung out of the tree, landing next to me. She kept her distance from the lake. Like a typical cat, my sister didn’t like water at all. When she was little, it had taken all of our mother’s threats of taking away her toys and pets to get her to bathe. She still viewed bath time as punishment rather than pleasure.

She gazed over the water as the wind rustled the grass across the lea. “Do you think we’ll still be doing this in ten years? Will we all still be single, working for the agency, living with Father?” She sounded almost wistful.

“I don’t know,” Menolly said, pushing herself to her feet. “I think I’m ready for change. Something different, you know? I feel like we’re marking time. Maybe I’ll marry Keris. Have children.”

She’d been dating our neighbor for several months and things were heating up. He was Fae, but he didn’t care about her half-human blood or that she also loved women. They’d recently started talking in terms of the future.

As I slid off the rock to stand beside them, something in the wind sent a shiver racing down my back. I closed my eyes, listening to the energy. A low rumble of static ran through the astral as a dark cloud rolled across my inner vision, reeking with the scent of fresh blood and flame and fear. As I stiffened, the echo of a shriek—long and drawn-out as if from far in the distance—washed over me. I staggered under the wave of malevolence and fell to my knees, forcing my eyes open.

“What? What’s wrong?” Menolly knelt beside me.

I glanced at her, then up at Delilah. All of the joy had drained out of the day, and the sun seemed harsh instead of nurturing. I shook my head. Though I didn’t understand it, the premonition had left me shaken and afraid.

Sometimes my magic went awry, and sometimes my foresight was blurred. But this . . . This energy had crossed my grave. And I knew in my heart that—perhaps not today, perhaps not tomorrow—but that in the near future something was going to happen. Something we weren’t ready for, and wouldn’t welcome. Change was in the air, all right.

THE market was a lot more risky at night when the thieves and muggers came out of the woodwork. Underage whores worked the crowds—runaways and orphans who were too afraid to brave the countryside where they might be able to hunt and forage for their food.

Pickpockets slid through the throngs, looking for easy marks. Vampires occasionally roamed the streets, looking to put the bite on someone. The vamps were the most dangerous. Most of the bloodsuckers lost their consciences after a while, falling to their inner predator. Our father hated vamps—he’d witnessed his cousin being killed by one and barely escaped with his own life. The bloody memory stayed with him.

I stood at the front entrance to the Marketplace, scanning the faces, looking for Trillian. I’d dressed to impress, a black sparkling bustier over a spidersilk skirt the color of a peacock’s feathers. A pair of leather gloves covered my hands, in black, up to the elbows. I’d worn a pair of my mother’s shoes—odd, high-heeled sandals made from leather with spiked heels and delicate straps. She’d had the same size feet as I did, and I’d claimed her shoe collection, since none of her clothes would fit me. I had also tucked her wedding dress away in my closet, secure in a wooden trunk filled with moth-repelling sachets. I was saving it for when Menolly got married—she’d fit in it no problem.

Now, I cautiously maneuvered over the cobblestones, sticking close to the entrance, hoping the Svartan wouldn’t stand me up. But just as I was about ready to leave, there he was, dressed in black tunic and trousers, a silhouette gliding through the street, silver hair bound in a braid, a smile on his face.

Trillian reached out his hands and I took them, my heart jumping a beat. I pressed in, kissed him deeply and he returned the fire with his own.

“You came,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“I promised. Did you think I’d space out?” I gazed into his eyes and saw a flicker of confusion. “Idiom from my mother’s world. You really didn’t think I’d come, did you?” Could he be as nervous as I was?

“I didn’t know. To be honest, I haven’t been able to think of anything else today. The image of your face haunts me.”

I smiled, feeling unaccountably happy. But all I said was, “Is Roche here?”

And then, he was all business again. Trillian tugged my hand, pulling me behind him. “Yes, he is. Follow me and be careful. Did you bring something to bind him with should we catch him?”

“Right here.” I touched the shoulder pouch hanging from my right arm. Inside, I had several things that could stop Roche, short of a bodyguard or a mage. The agency didn’t know I carried them, or they’d take them away. But my sisters and I had accumulated a trunk filled with goodies that bordered on illegal. We figured we needed the advantage, given our faulty powers.

In my bag, among other things, I’d tucked a pair of iron handcuffs, careful not to touch them with bare skin. Not only were they iron, but they were bespelled with confusion magic, guaranteed to knock any Fae on his butt.

Torture device? Yeah . . . the iron would burn his skin until he was locked up and they were removed. But considering Roche’s crimes, I wasn’t exactly feeling merciful. In fact, Delilah thought I was an ogre for using them, while Menolly just gave me a knowing look. But I was rapidly learning that the only way to win with the YIA was to play down and dirty.

I also had a bottle of pixie dust that I’d picked up at the flea market. Guaranteed to turn anybody who breathed it into a klutz. And resting next to the handcuffs and the pixie dust was a scroll that I’d spent a lot of money on. The magic was deadly, and if I broke open the wax seal on the charm and inserted Roche’s name into the spell as I read it, he’d never walk this world again.

Death magic was more common than anybody wanted to admit. I didn’t like using it—there was something too familiar, too enticing about it, but with his track record I wasn’t about to leave my ass uncovered. The best of circumstances would leave me holding the death charm for a different time, but it felt good to have a little insurance tucked away.

Trillian led me along a winding path through the maze of carts and awnings and tents and canopies. We passed by the stalls of dancing girls and whores, of junkies and beggars sleeping it off by the edge of the road. Trillian paid them no attention, but my gaze flickered to the faces as we passed.

My mother told us that humans envisioned a utopia when they thought of Faerie Land. Then again, most didn’t really believe Y’Eírialiastar existed. But the truth would shock them. My father’s people were all too susceptible to the same problems that plagued mortals. Poverty, addiction, violence . . . we had it all.

We passed a Sawberry Fae hawking doses of kysa for ten pen each. Opium went for ten times the price. He caught my gaze and winked. “Care for a trip, my dear? Make life more bearable? Only ten pen.”

He reached out to grab my arm as I pushed past him.

Before I could react, Trillian had hold of the man’s wrist, twisting it so that it was bent back in the wrong direction. “Touch her again and I’ll cut it off.”

The Sawberry winced. “All right, all right. You wouldn’t want to sell her, would you? She’d fetch a—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish because Trillian’s arm was suddenly wrapped around his neck, a knife aimed at his jugular.

“Don’t touch her, don’t speak to her, don’t even think about her. Are we clear?” A dangerous light flickered across the Svartan’s face, and I realized that he was ready to cut the man’s throat and he wasn’t even sweating.

“Yes,” the Sawberry croaked, rubbing his neck as Trillian released him. He averted his gaze from mine and scurried back to his tent.

Trillian slid the knife back into its sheath, which was hanging at his side and shrugged. “Come,” he said, holding out his hand. “This isn’t the safest place for women.”

I took his hand and followed. The stars were emerging, brilliant and beautiful and shining. The Moon Mother watched over us and I felt her presence in the pit of my stomach. She was nearing full, and the closer we got, the more I craved a man’s touch. Trillian’s hand was hot against mine. I tried to keep my mind on our mission—on finding Roche—but it was hard with him touching me.

“There,” he hissed. “Up ahead. See that tent? A gambler named Bes runs a den there. Roche is there. I checked earlier and he was deep into the game. What do you want to do? Will he recognize you?”

I’d been careful, but an alarm rang in the back of my head. If the YIA was setting me up to fail, maybe they had leaked info about me to the rumor mill. Maybe Roche knew I was on his tail.

“I don’t know,” I said after a moment. “I can’t guarantee that he won’t know who I am.”

“Come with me,” Trillian said, pulling me toward a nearby stall. The vendor was sitting beside a rack of scarves and drapes, drinking goblin brandy. The stench filtered up to my nose and set me to sneezing, it was so thick with peppercorns and keva root.

“Let me see . . . This will work,” Trillian said, choosing a sheer ankle-length cloak. Filmy and the color of amethyst, it was hooded and would cloak my face while still allowing me to see through the silken material. He draped the cloth around my shoulders and I slid the hood up.

Trillian gently tucked my hair inside the hood, making sure my errant curls were hidden from view.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, tracing my chin with his fingertips, gently running his fingers over my mouth. I parted my lips and he slid his index finger inside. Closing my lips around his finger, I swirled my tongue against the flesh, gently running my teeth over his skin as I pulled away.

He caught a harsh breath. “Do you know how lucky you are that I am not like the majority of my kinsmen?”

“Do you realize how lucky you are that I’m not like my sisters?” I countered, wishing we were anywhere but here. I hesitated. Would it be so bad to forget about Roche? To pretend I didn’t know he was here, to run off to an inn with Trillian and slide my naked body across his? But then my father’s training kicked in and I let out a long sigh. “Roche shouldn’t be able to recognize me now. Let’s go before I lose my nerve.”

Trillian laughed, then. “Camille, somehow I think that if you lose anything, it won’t be your courage. Come, pretend you’re with me and keep quiet until we find him. They don’t like women in the dens but they’ll allow them if they’re with a man. We can get a feel for what’s going on and go from there.”

He paid the man and we headed back to Bes’s den. Trillian motioned for me to hang back a few steps while he talked to the two guards at the entrance.

The vagabond gambling dens were usually owned by criminals. Gaming wasn’t illegal, but the safer dens were found in buildings and guaranteed the gambler safe passage in and out of the game rooms unless they invited trouble. The vagabonds’ dens were strictly enter-at-your-own-risk.

Suddenly chilled, I realized how grateful I was that Trillian was with me. I could fight down and dirty, but the dens were dangerous places, and without my sisters, I felt vulnerable. I shifted from one foot to the other, wanting to get this over with.

Trillian motioned for me to follow him inside. The tent was a two-room affair, with the main room taken up by the den. There were two low-rise tables, around which sat a dozen men—six at each table. I glanced over the crowd and there he was. Roche.

His eyes were glazed and he looked rough, his face covered with stubble, his hair unkempt, and his clothes filthy. Worse yet, he was stinking up the place. I wondered how long it had been since he’d had a bath. A pile of coins sat in front of him and he toyed with them, rolling them over and over in his hand.

Trillian sauntered up to the table and spoke to the dealer, who nodded curtly and pointed to a chair. As he sat down, he motioned for me to stand behind him. As I slowly crossed the floor, my gaze demurely pointed at my feet, something felt off. Very off. As though hidden eyes were watching me.

I leaned over Trillian’s shoulder to whisper to him but then stopped. Roche was still turning over the coins in his hand, but his gaze was firmly fastened on me. Catching my breath, I placed a hand on Trillian’s shoulder, squeezing in the hope that he’d get my message that something was up.

“In or out?” the dealer asked him.

Trillian tossed a few coins on the table. “In.”

Roche glanced down at the pile of coins in front of him and anted up, then added twenty pen more. The bets went round the table, with each player meeting or raising the bet. Roche held up the dice and pitched them on the table. Out of five dice, they landed a total of twenty-one pips. He frowned as the dealer jotted down the number. Round the table they went, each man taking his turn. By the time Trillian was up, Roche was still the leader. Trillian scooped up the dice and neatly tossed them. They rebounded off the bumper on the other side and came up four sixes and a three.

“Twenty-seven. You’re the current leader. What’s your pleasure? Let stand or bet for the second round?”

Trillian shook his head. “Stand.”

Roche snorted. “That the best you can do, Svartan?” He tossed another three coins on the pot. “Reroll.” The dice came his way and he shook them in his hand, blowing on them for luck, then tossed them.

The dealer grunted. “Twenty-three pips. Still under. Next?”

Roche slammed his hand on the table but said nothing as the other four players took their turns. Two walked out, their pockets clean. The other two bet again but neither one hit the mark and they both folded.

Trillian glanced at Roche. He could either match what had been added to the pot and toss again for the third and final round, or he could stand on his mark and see if Roche bested him.

“Stand,” he said, giving Roche a faint grin that bordered on patronizing.

That’s the way, I thought. Push him over the edge.

Roche took the bait. He motioned to the dealer. “Kysa.” As he lit up the hookah the dealer offered him, he glanced at me again. “What would you think of a higher wager—just between us? I’m sure I can make it worth your while.”

Trillian grunted. “What do you have in mind?”

“A night with your woman.” Roche gave him a lopsided grin. “Can’t see her face but from the walk, she’s got it where it counts.”

What the fuck? The look on his face was that of a mad dog’s. I stiffened, then it occurred to me this was the perfect way to get alone with him. I forced myself to relax, wondering if Trillian would think of that little fact, too.

Giving no sign that the request had unnerved him, Trillian leaned back in his chair, glancing up at me. “What makes you think she’s for rent?”

Roche’s breath came heavy as he leaned across the table. “Every coin in my pocket against a night with her.”

Trillian frowned. “Let me consider it while I have a drink.” He motioned to me. “We’ll be back. Have an account of how much you’re willing to wager.” He paused, not turning as we reached the door. “And don’t even think about lightening the pile on the table. I know exactly how much is there. I’m not lenient with thieves,” he added. He motioned to the boy who was running drinks for the players. “Tygerian brandy. Now.”

The boy scurried off and within seconds was back with a shot of brandy. Trillian tossed him a coin and then motioned for me to follow him out of the den.

“This is the way for me to get to him,” I said when we were out of earshot.

“It’s dangerous. Did you see the glint in his eye? He’s hunting, and he’s after you.” Trillian shook his head. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone with him, even for a few moments. I’ll follow you, of course, but I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to get in there in time to stop him.”

“I need to take him down,” I said. “At first, I just wanted to save my job, but after seeing the look in his eyes . . .” My words drifted off as I glanced back at the tent. “Too many people are dead because of him, including his own family. They need justice. If I don’t do it, nobody else will.”

Trillian leaned down and brushed my brow with a kiss. “And this is what I saw in you the other day in the bar. I may be a mercenary, but I’ve got a code of ethics. And you, Camille D’Artigo, exceed my standards.”

I shivered. “I don’t want to do this, but I’ve got to. You’ll back me up?”

He nodded. “I promise you on my honor. I’ll do everything in my power to prevent him from hurting you.”

I patted my bag. “I’ve got an ace up my sleeve. Let’s just hope I don’t have to use it.” Checking to make sure my stiletto was strapped to my thigh for easy access, I straightened my shoulders and drew the hood back over my head. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Trillian parted the flaps of the tent. “As you wish,” he said, but his eyes told me he wasn’t at all happy about the plan.

4

ROCHE jerked his head up as Trillian slid back into his chair. He looked hungry, like he hadn’t eaten in a long time, but it wasn’t food he was looking for.

Trillian glanced at the pile of coins, then nodded. Apparently everything was still there. “I accept your wager. Empty your purse and pockets. I want to see everything you have on you.”

Roche tossed his purse on the table. He slowly reached into his pockets. I held my breath, but he brought his hands into sight again, filled with coins. Large denominations, at that. He dumped them on the table as Trillian motioned to the dealer. The man, a burly bald Fae who was part-goblin by the looks of him, opened the purse and up-ended it over the pile of coins. The bet had tripled. I wondered if Roche had a stash of money hidden somewhere. He surely wouldn’t be stupid enough to wager everything on the chance of winning a night with me.

Trillian glanced at me and I gave him a slight nod. He picked up the dice and tossed them to Roche. “Winner takes all.”

Roche sucked in a deep breath and let the dice fly. Everybody who was in the tent was watching the game by now and leaned in to see what he would land.

The dealer carefully tallied the points. “Twenty-six pips.”

Trillian picked up the dice and tensed. I knew he was going to skew the numbers. Whether by magic or sleight of hand, he’d lose. He casually bounced them across the table. They skidded across the surface to ricochet off one of the bumpers and land squarely beside the pile of coins. Two fours, a six, a three, and a five. Twenty-two pips.

“Twenty-two pips. You lose.”

Roche triumphantly gathered up the coins. “She’s mine for the night. You aren’t going to try to back out on me, are you?”

Trillian shook his head. “No, but I claim the right to wait outside.” He stared at Roche. “After all, you can’t expect me to trust you.”

A dark cloud swept across Roche’s face, but after a moment, he shrugged. “Whatever you say, but no interference.” His voice was ragged.

I shivered. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. He could do a lot of damage in the time it would take Trillian to bust through the door. But then I thought of the women and children Roche had murdered. Lathe thought he could break me with this one. I’d show him just how freakin’ strong I was and bust his balls, and in the process I’d take down a killer.

Trillian stepped outside and I followed. Roche followed me. He was fixated—I could feel his energy sliming around in my aura.

To calm my nerves, behind the cowl of my drape I kept my mind on the surprise he had coming. Maybe I should just use the death scroll the minute we were alone, but the Moon Mother’s energy was working on me. The hunt wouldn’t be nearly so much fun if I gave him an easy exit. No, if I could capture him alive, the families of the dead would have the right to request blood-vengeance. And they would be harsher than I could ever be.

Trillian put himself between Roche and me. “Your name, first? I won’t let anybody touch her without a name.”

Roche arched one eyebrow. “She must really be good,” he said. “They call me Roche. Follow me.”

We followed him through the maze of vendors until we came to Azyur Boulevard, where he turned left into a long, narrow street. The streets were lined with worn cobblestones and the buildings were old, two-story stone and mortar. He stopped in front of a seedy-looking dive. The sign read CALISTO’S.

“Second floor,” he said, leading us in through the foyer. The innkeeper—a short, squat rawhead—was sitting behind a roughly hewn counter, his feet propped up on the wood, a bottle of booze in his hands. He cast a quick look our way, then went back to his drinking. We couldn’t count on him for help. Rawheads were nastier than goblins, out for themselves and nobody else.

We headed up the narrow stairwell to the second floor. Roche stopped in front of a door that was scarred with the wounds of past intruders. A patch job covered a fist-sized hole.

He turned to Trillian. “As agreed, you stay out here.”

Trillian shrugged. “Play by the rules and we won’t have a problem.”

Roche unlocked the door and ushered me into the dingy room. It stunk of stale food and the faint scent of urine. I glanced around. The bed was a single cot with a thin mattress and ratty spread. Movement caught my attention and I looked closer. Fleas. Gross.

In one corner were a table and chair, and a small stand with a water pitcher and a bowl sat near the bed. There was no sign of bath or private commode—whoever Calisto was, he was definitely a slumlord.

My courage wavered and I decided to take the quickest way out. No chance in hell was I letting Roche lay one hand on me. If that meant using the death scroll, then that’s what it meant. I edged toward the table, gently setting my bag on the splintered surface. Roche was watching me, I could feel his eyes on my back.

“Take off your clothes,” he said hoarsely.

It was now or never. I covered what I was doing with my body as I fished around in the bag for the handcuffs. As I touched the iron, he grabbed my drape and yanked it off. I dropped the cuffs back in the bag and whirled around.

“Just as I thought. A Moon witch.”

“Is that a problem?” I asked, keeping my voice even. He hadn’t noticed what was in my bag yet. Score one for me, but I had to get them on him before he knew what I was up to.

Roche stepped forward, the soft fall of his boots against the floor echoing in the stuffy room. For a moment he didn’t answer, and then, his voice taking on a nasty tone, he said, “Normally, I’d be thrilled. Fucking a Moon witch is like fucking an expensive whore, but considering you’re with the YIA and out to capture me, I don’t think I’m really all that happy to see you.”

Crap. He knew who I was. I spun, grabbing the handcuffs as I scrambled to get out of his reach. The look on his face was all I needed to see. I’d been set up. Lathe had sold me out and I knew it.

Roche lunged at me, and I screamed as I swung the handcuffs toward him, hoping to contact his face with the iron. There was a sound at the door. Thank the gods, Trillian!

But before Trillian could break through, Roche muttered something under his breath and the world shifted as he grabbed my hand. I frantically grabbed for anything I could to steady myself, but the chair, the table, the floor all vanished and we were standing in the middle of a misty field.

Looking around, I realized that we were out on the astral. I recognized it from the nights I ran with the Hunt under the full moon. How the hell had Roche managed that?

He was standing right next to me, but he’d dropped my hand as we shifted over—the landing had been rough—and I took the opportunity to swing the cuffs as hard as I could, keeping hold of one loop while using the other like the ball on a spiked flail. It hit him square on the cheek and the iron sizzled against his skin. Roche screamed and clutched his face.

Swinging again, I hit the other cheek, then raced off. Though I’d burned and bruised him, the wounds weren’t enough to stop him.

I made tracks, not caring which direction I headed in. I had to find some place to hide. The astral realm had its own flora and fauna, of a sort, and I spotted a stand of twisted trees up ahead. They weren’t real trees, of course, not like the ones we had back home, but they’d do.

Racing through the mists that swirled around my ankles, I thought I might be able to reach the stand before Roche caught up to me. I had one thing in my favor: when I ran with the Hunt, I was used to being out on the astral and I could run like the wind here. I sped up, leaving him in a wash of roiling mist.

As I slipped into the shadow of the trees, my mind was racing. How the hell was I supposed to get out of here? I couldn’t shift on my own unless the Hunt was summoning me or dropping me off. Come to think of it, where the hell had Roche learned to shift realms?

I softly darted among the ancient beings, watching their gnarled knots and burls form into faces. With a little luck they’d be friendly. With bad luck, they wouldn’t and I’d be facing a whole new set of problems.

There was no clearly marked path through the thicket—at least not that I could see through the mists—but the trees were parted to either side like they were flanking a trail so I headed down the center, searching for a fork leading off to the side. Maybe I’d get lucky and see a big sign flashing HIDING PLACE—YOU’LL BE SAFE HERE.

Damn it, I hadn’t counted on Roche being able to jump realms. This was a definite kink in my plans. Maybe a deadly one.

A noise in the distance caught my attention. I tried to pinpoint the origin and decided it was probably Roche, nearing the woods. He was swearing, or at least that’s what I thought I heard.

Time to get out of sight. I glanced around at the thick undergrowth that surrounded the trees. The shrubs were just as menacing as the trees, but beggars can’t be choosers. It was either hide, or wait for Roche to knock me off. I plunged into the undergrowth, pushing through the waist-high bushes, trying to avoid leaving a trail.

The bushes grew taller as I continued off-path, and I finally found myself in front of a stand of brambles that had grown like a dome over a rock. A narrow crawl space allowed me to slip beneath the tendrils and slide behind the boulder. Once I was in my hidey-hole, I arranged the thorn-studded suckers to cover the access.

Of course, what I’d do after he left was another thing. Probably just wander around, hoping to find somebody who could send me home.

I waited, wondering what Trillian was doing. If he was like a hundred men I’d met, he’d take off, chalking it up to fate. A little part of me dared to hope that he’d come after me, but I knew better than to count on it. The Svartans weren’t exactly the most loyal group of races around, and even if he defied the odds, very few from Svartalfheim had easy access to the etheric realms.

The sound of footsteps caught my attention and I held my breath. The thorns poked at me. I tried to adjust my position, but realized that it wasn’t me bumping into them. Apparently the bush had decided to test out just what kind of creature I was, and one of the fronds was prodding me in the arm with its thorny tip. I grimaced and tried to gently wave it away. No such luck.

As it tapped me again, I glanced around, ready to pull out my dagger and chop the damned thing off, when I saw eyes gleaming at me from the base of the tree. The face stared at me impassively, then slowly blinked. The bramble that had been poking at me moved to point toward a low tunnel through the thorn bushes. That hadn’t been there before.

I glanced back at the tree and then sucked in a deep breath and dove for the tunnel. As I crawled through the mist, I heard a sound and darted a look over my shoulder. The brambles had closed again, cocooning me in a cave of thorns and leaves. I could barely see through the tangle of protection. As I settled myself, an odd little creature crossed through the place I’d just been crouching. A foul stench filled the air as it lifted its tail. A lycon—a friendly little mammal with a very strong defense. Mother had called them skunks.

Gagging, I forced myself to remain silent as the lycon rambled on through the undergrowth. Thank the gods I’d been out of the line of fire. Just then, a noise caught my attention as someone entered the area. Roche. Damn it—he’d probably followed my scent. I peered through a tiny gap in the brambles and could just make him out. He turned this way, then that, as if he were looking for something. I heard him curse.

Bingo! The tree and bush were helping me. They’d called in the lycon, whose spray had masked my scent. It would be impossible for Roche to find me now. And if I was guessing right, the brambles would put up one hell of a fight if he tried to tear through them.

Feeling like I actually might have a chance to come out of this alive, I huddled, waiting. The only thing I had with me were the iron handcuffs, and those I held gingerly, even with the gloves on. No use taking chances.

After a few moments, Roche turned and forced his way back through the undergrowth. I waited, barely breathing, until the branches around me relaxed. As they opened up, I crawled out, stood up, and cautiously adjusted my clothing.

Turning back to the tree, I let out a long sigh. “I don’t know if you can understand me,” I whispered, “but thank you. You saved my life.”

There was a soft murmur, as if the air currents were gliding through the knothole that formed the tree’s mouth. I got the distinct impression it said, “You’re welcome.”

After what seemed like an eternity, I pushed through the undergrowth back to the trail, pleased that Roche was nowhere in sight.

“Fuck,” I whispered. “Now what do I do? I have no idea how to get back home.”

The mist stretched out for as far as I could see. I could barely remember which way I’d come, or how far. I’d been running so fast that I’d lost track of the distance I’d covered.

After a moment’s debate, I straightened my shoulders and decided to continue on through the copse. As I picked up the pace, the trees were no longer silent. They whispered and shook in the astral currents. I closed my eyes and tuned in on what they were saying. I had the gift of talking to plants, even though I wasn’t all that skilled at growing them, and so I listened.

At first the murmurs surrounded topics I’d expect most trees—even astral ones—to discuss. Sun and growth and the mist, which apparently provided the water they needed to blossom and thrive. Scattered references to the lycons and other creatures of the astral realm dotted the conversation. But then, a sinister tone crept into the leaf-whispers, and I paused, dropping into a trance in order to pick up what they were saying.

“He’s forming an army . . .”

“Do you think he’ll come into our world . . .”

“We should pay no heed—it is not our affair . . .”

“But flame and fire are, and even here they can wound us . . .”

Eventually, the talk about the mysterious stranger died away, but the fear that had accompanied their words remained behind. Something was on the move and I didn’t want to know what. After a few minutes, the whispers took up again, this time about the passing of time.

How long I walked, I couldn’t say. Time didn’t run the same on the astral as it did over on the physical realm. But eventually I came to the end of the wood and found myself standing on the edge of a long chasm filled with mist and sparkling fog. A narrow rope bridge crossed the abyss, looking about as supportive as a leisure bra.

Sucking in a deep breath, I stepped onto the suspension bridge, pausing as it swung back and forth with my weight. Cautiously resting my hands on the railings, I slowly began to cross, taking care not to get my heels caught in the knotholes of the wooden planks that made up the passage.

I was about halfway across when I saw a figure on the other side, dressed in a long gray cloak with hood. Roche? My heart pumped wildly until it clicked that it didn’t match his body type. When I reached out to touch the energy, I discovered a woman’s signature, with no sense of evil surrounding her. Curiosity, yes. Caution—definitely. But no deranged chaos like Roche.

Maybe she could tell me how to get back home. She waited silently as I steeled myself and hurried across the wildly swinging bridge, taking care not to look down. I didn’t like heights. I didn’t like them at all and this was about as freak-assed high as I’d ever been. Running with the Hunt didn’t count.

I came to the end of the bridge and glanced back as I stepped off it. The bridge vanished into the mists. One moment it was there; the next, it disappeared.

“Holy hell!” I jumped away from the edge toward the woman. “Where did the damned thing go?”

She towered over me, even more than Delilah. And when she spoke, her voice was muffled, as if swathed in cotton.

“The bridge is mine and appears only when one who has need comes searching for me.”

She brushed back her hood and I gazed into her eyes. She might be any age . . . young, mature . . . ancient. Hair streamed down her back, silver touched with violet highlights. I couldn’t place her race. Neither mortal nor Fae, that much was for certain. Her eyes were pale silver ringed by a black halo, and her pupils the darkest jet I’d ever seen.

A wave of magic rolled off her that almost knocked me down. This was no witch or sorceress. No, she was magic incarnate. I stared at her for a moment. Was she a goddess? An Immortal?

“I’m afraid I don’t know who you are. I wasn’t searching for you—just . . . for anybody who could help me, I guess.”

She circled me with a dispassionate gaze. “I am the Lady of the Mists and you have entered my realm.”

The Lady of the Mists . . . cripes! I was facing an Elemental Lord. Queen. Whatever you called her, she was one of the true Immortals. And—like all of them—she existed outside the realm of mortal and Fae affairs. I immediately fell into a deep curtsy.

The Lady of the Mists gazed down at me, and I felt her hand touch the top of my head. “Stand, Moon witch. What are you doing in my realm? This is not your time of the month to run with the Hunt.”

“I’m lost,” I said. “I was dragged over to the astral by a murderer whom I was hunting. He meant to kill me, but I managed to get away.” I held up the iron handcuffs. “I tried to catch him, but he surprised me. I had no idea he could shift through the realms.”

She glanced at the handcuffs and grimaced. “Iron? You carry iron?”

“I do what I need to in order to fulfill my duties. Can you help me?” I wondered if the Elemental Lords were affected by iron like the Fae. But she merely brushed them away.

“Help you how? To catch him, or to return to your world?”

By the way she said it, I had the feeling she could do either. But it was dangerous to ask for favors from the Immortals—far more dangerous than even the gods. The Elemental Lords were capricious. Death to them was simply a blink of an eye.

“Can you tell me how to get home?” I asked, not even wanting to request that much, but I didn’t have much choice. Of course, I could wait here until the full moon, at which point the Hunt would sweep me up, but that seemed ridiculous and even worse—would allow Roche to escape.

She tilted my chin up and her hand felt like a gentle breeze kissing my skin. “I can help you,” she said softly. “But you will be in my debt.”

“What do you want in return? What can I possibly offer you?” I asked.

The Lady of the Mists smiled then, and my blood ran cold. Her smile was ruthless, not evil or malign, but as cold as snow, as frozen as glacial ice.

“In time I will send someone to you. Someone connected with the mist and fog. You may not realize it when you meet her, but eventually you will remember this pact. You will help her. You will do whatever is needed to help her redeem herself. Do you understand?”

I nodded, my teeth chattering. Her touch sent me reeling with the cold. “What happens if I say no?”

She laughed, her voice echoing through the fog that swirled around us, whirling pools of dancing mist. “Then, my dear, you will journey over the abyss again, this time without a bridge.”

Realizing that I was backed into a corner, and feeling the hand of fate squeezing me tighter, I gave her my pledge.

“Close your eyes,” she whispered.

I did, and the next thing I knew, I fell forward, losing my grip on the handcuffs. My eyes flew open and I found myself tumbling toward the floor as if I’d been shoved hard from behind. I scrambled for balance, but Trillian was there and he leapt forward, catching me in his arms. I was back in Roche’s room.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered hoarsely, a terrified look on his face. And then he was kissing me, and in the heat of that kiss, I tumbled headfirst into the fire.

5

TRILLIAN lifted me off my feet as his lips fastened on to mine. I melted into the kiss, willing it to go on and on as I wrapped my legs around his waist. The fear of dying at Roche’s hands, of being lost on the astral, of facing the Lady of the Mists, all rolled together into one big horny rush as he kissed me. I slid my hands up to his hair, my fingers coiling tightly around the long silken strands.

He pressed against my inner thighs, rigid and searching behind the front of his trousers. I shifted, rubbing against him, listening to his soft moan as he tightened his grip around my waist. His fingers sparkled with magic and every place he touched tingled, sending a trail of desire singing through my body.

“Do you think it’s safe?” I eyed the bed, then the floor. The floor was a better choice. Fleas—not so much.

“Oh great gods, I want to say yes. I want you. But, no.”

“Will Roche come back here?” I lowered my legs to the floor and stepped back, panting raggedly.

Trillian reluctantly let go of me. It was then that I noticed he had a friend with him. Another Svartan, only with a well-trimmed beard. Stouter than Trillian, the man was leaning against the door frame, grinning. Yeah, we’d put on a little show, all right. I could see the amusement in his eyes.

“Oh, he’ll be back,” Trillian said. “He left too many valuables here and he’ll want to make sure I didn’t steal them.”

I swallowed my desire, trying to focus on the here and now. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Trillian rubbed his chin. “Right. I almost forgot. Sorry.”

“I think I was just insulted,” the man said.

“It wouldn’t be the first time. Camille, this is Darynal, my blood-oath brother,” Trillian said, laughing. “Darynal, meet Camille.” He sobered. “I’m calling on our oath here. If this woman needs help, she may ask you for your assistance—in my name.”

The smile faded from Darynal’s face. He bowed to me. “Camille, consider me in your service. Whatever aid you need, I will do my best to provide. Whatever information you require, I will do my best to tell you.”

Feeling like I’d just been made an honorary Svartan, I cleared my throat. I wanted nothing more than to forget about Roche and the astral and the Lady of the Mists, and go fuck Trillian’s brains out. But I managed to gather my wits and get back to the problem at hand.

I curtsied back. “Thank you. I won’t abuse the honor.” Turning to Trillian, I asked, “What happened after Roche dragged me onto the astral?”

His eyes took on a dangerous glow. “When I heard the commotion, I broke into the room. Roche had vanished and you were nowhere in sight. I searched everywhere. In the room, outside the building . . . but I couldn’t find you. I did, however, pick up on the fact that he’d kidnapped you into a different realm. So I sent a message back to my hotel asking Darynal to meet me here.”

“You’re just lucky I’m in the city this month. I don’t usually trade here in Y’Elestrial,” Darynal interjected.

Trillian gave him a short nod, then turned back to me. “I had no intention of leaving this area. If Roche came back without you and I managed to catch him, I would have taken a very dull knife and cut him over every inch of his body until he led me to you.”

I swallowed. I thought I could be ruthless, but the look on Trillian’s face was cruel enough to slice rock. He’d make one hell of a nasty enemy.

Darynal just laughed. “Trust him, he’d do it.”

I filled them in on my adventures in astral-land, including my encounter with the copse of trees and how the brambles had hid me from Roche’s sight and sense of smell. I didn’t give them the rundown on meeting the Lady of the Mists. That little tea party I needed to think over for a while before I said anything to anyone. Of course, Trillian noticed the oversight.

“How did you get back here?” he asked.

“I found someone to help me,” I said, sidestepping the issue. “Some astral spirit who was in a good mood. So did Roche show up?”

“You don’t see any blood, do you?” Trillian shook his head. “No, but trust me. He’ll be back later, when he thinks we’ve given up. He’s not going to want to leave this behind.” He hoisted a valise holding a number of magical scrolls, as well as several questionable objects. “I found it in the closet. Locked, but most locks can’t hold me out for long.”

“We need to keep watch so we can catch him when he shows up,” I said. “But he can’t know I’m back. If he thinks I’m still stuck over there on the astral, then he’ll assume it’s safe. And you’d better put in an appearance of leaving because ten to one, he’s watching the building right now.” I frowned, digging through the items. Spell scrolls, potions, a few charms—all stuff that I could happily make use of.

Grabbing my bag from where I’d left it on the chair, I upended the valise into it, swiping the scrolls along with everything else that he’d squirreled away. Then, I closed the trunk and set it back in place.

Glancing up, I said, “I lost my iron handcuffs along the way, but I can find another pair in the markets. The scrolls are magical. Roche probably bought a butt load of magic to help with his little hack-up-the-women art project.”

I looked up to find Trillian and Darynal watching me. They were both grinning. “What? What did I do now?”

Trillian shook his head, laughing gently. “Oh, Camille, you’re truly a woman after my heart.” When I gave him a quizzical look, he just smiled.

“Okay,” I said. “How are we going to work this?”

Darynal shrugged. “I suggest that Trillian leave rather noticeably via the front door. You sneak out the back—if you’re around, chances are Roche will be able to sense your energy signature. I’ll stay here and hide.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said.

“Both of you get a move on, then. He doesn’t know I’m with you since I didn’t enter the building with you. I’ll hide in the closet. If I can trip him up, I will.” Darynal replaced the valise where it had been and opened the closet door, grimacing when he saw the cobwebs strung through the space. “Honestly, don’t they have any maids around here?”

“We’ll return after we’ve found disguises,” Trillian said. “I wish we had cell phones over here.”

I stared at him. “What the hell is a cell phone? My mother taught me about something called a telephone over Earthside. Any relation?”

Trillian nodded. “Yes. Cell phones are portable communication devices.”

“Wait!” I stared at him. He’d spoken far too calmly for what he just said. “You’ve been Earthside, haven’t you? You’ve used these cell phones before!”

He raised one eyebrow. “I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”

“Just you wait,” I said. “When we have more time, we’re going to sit down and have a good, long talk.”

Trillian grabbed me and gave me a quick kiss. “Not before we have a good, long fuck.”

Once again, my libido kicked in as I flashed on the image of Trillian driving himself into me. I let out an involuntary moan. Darynal chuckled. I scowled at him.

“Wipe the smile off your face, beard boy.” Turning back to Trillian, I added, “Disguises aren’t enough. We’d better cloak our magical signatures, too. There’s more to Roche than meets the eye.” I paused. “Darynal, what about you? Won’t Roche be able to sense you hiding in here?”

He shook his head and held up a silver pendant. “This will take care of that little problem.”

I recognized the design. Sorcerers used the amulets to hide their activities.

“Hey,” he added at my look. “I’m a damned good hunter, but what do you think gives me the edge on some of the elk and deer I go after?”

“So you don’t play fair,” I said, a faint grin on my face. I was beginning to get a feel for him, and I’d bet anything he and Trillian were one hell of a pair of troublemakers when they went out on the prowl together.

Darynal snorted. “I play to win. That’s something you’d better remember about your opponents, Camille. Most of them aren’t going to abide by the rule books. If you’re smart, you won’t either.”

Trillian wrapped his arm around my waist. “I have a feeling she learned that lesson a long time ago. Come on, love. Let’s get moving.”

As Trillian and I left the building, Trillian loudly via the front door and me sneaking out the back, I checked out the surrounding area, paying close attention to any niches or cubbyholes in which Roche could hide. If he was waiting for us to leave so he could return, he wouldn’t be standing out in plain sight. He might be a psychopath, but he wasn’t stupid.

The alleys and walkways were shrouded in gloom. The sky was covered by thick clouds that obscured the moon, and the air smelled like warm summer lightning was on the way. I smiled, feeling the surge of energy that welled within me, calling to the forks of lightning that were biding their time, waiting for the storm to break.

Lightning and I had a special affinity—part of a Moon witch’s powers included the ability to harness the lightning and other aerial weather. I wasn’t so hot with rain, though I managed. Snow was far more difficult for me to get a handle on. But lightning and I? We had an understanding. Of course, every time I called down the jagged branches of fire, I was terrified they would backlash and fry me to a crisp.

“What if he comes back before we return? What if he gets away from Darynal?” I asked as Trillian and I joined up a block later, once we were out of the sight line of the building. I had the nasty feeling Roche was going to hunt me down and try to kill me, even if I walked away and left him alone.

“We’ll track him. Darynal can follow any quarry he puts his mind to,” Trillian said, guiding me by the arm as he looked over his shoulder.

“I didn’t know they have game down in the Subterranean Realms,” I said.

Trillian glanced at me. “Not every Svartan lives in the Sub-Realms. Darynal lives in Darkynwyrd.”

Darkynwyrd was an ancient and deadly forest. I’d never been there, but the rumors were that it was filled with beasties and nasties that made Roche look like a saint. The forest was bordered on the south by Guilyoton, the goblin city. To the east stretched the Tygerian Mountains. West of the wood were several vast expanses of grassland, along with Wil-lowyrd Glen. And to the north—Thistlewood Deep, another glen that was reputed to be even more magical and shadowy than Darkynwyrd.

I shuddered. “I’ve never been in the dark forest. The Corpse Talkers are supposed to make their home there, you know.” Pausing, I glanced around. Still no sign of Roche, nor were we being followed. My senses were on overdrive and I was keyed in on any hint of energy that might be directed our way. “What about you? Where do you live? In the Subterranean Realms or in Y’Eírialiastar?”

Trillian shrugged. “I commute, you might say. I have a home back in Svartalfheim, but I also live here. To be precise, I have an apartment in Y’Elestrial. Fully furnished, complete with a servant to clean the rooms and my clothing. I don’t have to worry about anything except my food. Sometimes I’ll stay with Darynal if I’m over that direction.”

I had to ask. “I know you’re blood-oath brothers, but are you lovers?”

Trillian flashed me a soft smile. “No, we are not. I’m not attracted to men. I prefer the pleasures of women.” He led me through the market to a building that was unremarkable except for the magic I could feel emanating from it. To the eye, it was nothing more than a series of apartments, but I knew there was more at work behind the weathered double doors.

“Follow me and don’t speak until I tell you it’s safe,” he said.

We entered the lobby, which again was unremarkable. A few benches lined the walls and next to them stood generic potted plants. A bored-looking dwarf manned the counter. He didn’t even blink as we walked past him toward the staircase. Trillian led me through a long hall, lit by eye catchers, to a staircase. We stopped at the first door on the second floor.

He knocked three times, then pressed his palm against a silver plate on the side of the door frame that was glowing with a soft red light. The light flickered to green, and the door opened.

I dutifully followed him inside. The room was huge—it must have taken up a good half of the second story. Filled with heavy wooden tables, ornate armchairs, and a fireplace flickering with a soft bluish flame that came from neither wood nor ember, the chamber emanated so much magical energy that it almost knocked me flat on my back. I quickly leaned against Trillian to steady myself. He slid his arm around my waist and led me to a settee, where I quickly sat down.

“Wait here and don’t move.” He took off toward the other end of the room. I followed orders—there were times when I was happily willful and disinclined to obey, but the energy here could strike like a snake, and I was just a guest. I wasn’t about to cause any waves.

When Trillian returned, he was followed by an incredibly tall man. I couldn’t place his race of Fae—or even if he was Fae. He certainly wasn’t a giant, though he was nearly as tall as one. He reminded me of the inhabitants of Aladril, the City of Seers. They all had that same regal quality, gliding instead of walking, with serene and aloof expressions.

He motioned for Trillian to sit, then took his place in an armchair opposite us. I waited for Trillian to introduce us but after a moment, realized that wasn’t going to happen. Instead, he ignored me and talked directly to the man without addressing him by name.

“We need a spell to cover our magical signatures, to hide ourselves from someone we’re seeking. He knows who we are.” Trillian held out a marker and the man slowly accepted it.

“You realize once you cash this in, my debt to you is paid?”

I jerked my head up. Debt? I managed to catch a better look at the marker. A blood-debt marker. So whoever these people were, they owed a blood debt to Trillian.

“Of course,” Trillian said. “I’m a man of my word.”

“But not,” the stranger said, “necessarily a righteous man.”

“Righteousness has nothing to do with morality,” Trillian said calmly. I sensed this wasn’t the first time they’d had this debate.

“But morality without righteousness is a hollow victory for honor.” The stranger shook his head. “You cannot eliminate the power of belief, the power of the gods.”

Trillian snorted. “The power of the gods often leads to ruin for anybody but the gods themselves. Righteousness applied to morality is a dangerous mix, and zealots usually end up killing anybody who disagrees with them. No, give me my ethics, and leave religion out of it.”

The other man regarded him quietly, then smiled. “As always, you stand by your beliefs, regardless of how much I prod you. All right, you will have your help, but remember—the marker is forfeit and next time we meet, I won’t have any restrictions on killing you.”

“Done. But only for you. The rest of your brotherhood are not involved. This is our fight. We leave my people and your people out of it.” Trillian glanced at me. “And our friends, family, and lovers.”

“Agreed.” He said the word so mildly that I barely caught it, but I could feel the mixture of respect and anger welling off the man. Whoever he was, he didn’t like Trillian. I had the feeling Trillian had just cashed in his safety net.

“Wait here,” the man said, and glided toward the other end of the room.

I pressed my fingers onto Trillian’s arm, giving him a questioning look. He shook his head.

“Don’t ask. Not here.” After a pause, he gazed into my eyes and whispered, “Camille.” Then, without another word, he slid his arm around my waist and grazed my lips with his. As we touched, like a jagged spike of lightning, a jolt of energy seared its way through my core. Before I had time to gasp, an orgasm ripped me apart. But the energy didn’t stop there. It grew stronger, weaving a cord between us, knotting our auras together in an intricate pattern. I could feel the magic shift and dance, drawing me in, pulling me to him.

I clung to him, shaking. “What’s happening?”

Trillian looked just as dizzy and confused as I. He tried to push me away but the draw between us was too strong.

“Lady Hel preserve us,” he whispered, clinging to me, his lips on my hair, my forehead, my neck, covering my face with kisses.

Another wave washed through, turning me topsy-turvy. The cord between us was now visible, sparkling like a thick string of faerie lights. My fingers tingled under the sensation of his skin. I welcomed the pressure of his mouth as he played me like a skillfully tuned harp.

“We shouldn’t be doing this here.” Once again, I tried to break away but he held on, leaning me back against the seat, his eyes gleaming with a hunger so deep that I thought he might gobble me up.

His own voice was just as breathless as mine as he pressed himself between my legs, holding me down. “I don’t know . . . I don’t know . . . unless . . .”

“Unless what?” I managed to roll out from under him, but it took every ounce of self-control I had not to throw myself back into his arms.

He grabbed hold of my hands and held tight. “I’m one of the Charming Fae . . . There are legends that sometimes a Svartan will meet another Svartan with whom the mesh is so right that they spontaneously bond. For good. It’s rare, but it does happen.”

“But I’m not Svartan.”

“Svartan or not, I think that’s what’s happening.” Trillian lifted my chin and gazed into my eyes, a haunted look crossing his face. “When souls mate, nothing can undo the link.”

I stared at him. He wasn’t bullshitting. From the core of my gut, I knew that what he said was true.

“We haven’t even had sex yet,” was all I could say.

“I know. But think about what it’s going to be like when we do,” he murmured, then quickly straightened himself as the strange man reappeared.

The man ignored me as he handed Trillian two small medallions.

“Wear these. They will block your signatures from everyone. While you wear them, you will appear as dwarves. They will only last for a little while, so you’ll have to work fast.”

Trillian nodded, then stood. He inclined his head. “The blood-debt is paid. You are free. But next time we meet, before raising your sword, think back on our discussions. Perhaps you won’t be so hasty to have my head. You killed my sister already. That’s the only member of my family you’re touching.”

The man stared at him, conflicting emotions running across his face. After a moment, he said, “While I value our debates, know this, Svartan. If I had it to do over again, I’d kill her again. No woman refuses me. And next time we meet, I’ll be coming for you. Don’t ever darken the doors of this guild again, lest you find me here.” He nodded to the door. “Once you walk out of this building, I owe you nothing.”

Trillian shook his head, smiling grimly. “As you so wish,” he said, and led me out of the room. As soon as we were in the hallway, he draped one of the medallions around his neck.

“Mother pus bucket,” I said, staring at him, still dazed from our tryst. He looked like a dwarf, complete with long beard, short stature, and rugged appeal. He was still handsome—no spell could take away that gorgeous demeanor, but he was definitely a dwarf.

He blinked. “I assume you learned that from your mother?” he said as he draped the other medallion around my neck. “Well, you certainly look better as yourself, but this will do quite nicely.”

I glanced down at my arms and legs. Yep, I looked like a dwarf, too. A dwarf with really big boobs. Of course, a lot of dwarven women were busty. I glanced back at the chamber. “Mind telling me what the Hel we’re going to do about what happened back there?”

“Hush, leave it until we’re outside. Leave all questions until we’re outside.” He led me down the stairs and out the front door. Then, quickly, he tugged on my hand and we raced back toward Calisto’s. I prayed that we were right, and that Roche would be on his way up to his room. Trillian had just sacrificed a huge marker for this, and I didn’t want to see him wasting his get-out-of-jail-free card.

6

NIGHT was sweeping away the dusk, leaving a solid layer of stars overhead. As we slid through the streets, Trillian kept hold of my hand. My mind was racing with thoughts of Roche, of finally catching him and skewering my boss when I told the YIA that he’d been in on the perv’s escape.

But, overshadowing everything was the lingering tingle of my skin, the memory of what had happened between Trillian and me. There are legends that sometimes a Svartan will meet another Svartan with whom the mesh is so right that they spontaneously bond. For good. It’s rare, but it does happen.

His words reverberated through me. What did this mean? But I already knew. Something—by fate or chance—had brought us together. I’d known since our first meeting. And now we were bound, whether for good or ill, I didn’t know yet. My father was going to have a field day with this one.

“There,” Trillian whispered. “Calisto’s.”

As we watched, a figure emerged from the gloom. He was the right size and shape and an alarm sounded that yes—it was him. I clutched Trillian’s arm.

“It’s Roche,” I said. “I know that energy!”

We waited until he’d entered the building, then we slipped past the rawhead who had passed out, an empty bottle of booze on the counter. The stench of stale vomit filled the air.

As we tiptoed up the stairs, I steeled myself. Roche was up there. Roche, who liked to carve up women and children. Darynal’s warning came back to me—Roche wouldn’t play by the rules, so I wasn’t going to either. Whatever it took, I was taking the dude down. Hard.

As we reached the top of the stairs, Roche had already disappeared into the room and we could hear the sounds of fighting from behind the scarred door.

“Come on! Darynal’s in danger.” Trillian slammed open the door and rushed into the room. I followed.

“Stop or I’ll kill him!” Roche whirled, holding Darynal by the throat, a knife with a glinting razor’s edge poised at his jugular. He stared at us for a moment, looking totally confused. “Who the fuck are you?”

Darynal was limp, but alive. I could tell he was doing his best to relax into the hold, a good way to fool your opponent. Only Roche wasn’t the sanest peach in the pie, so what might work on a normal psycho wasn’t necessarily going to do the trick for him.

First things first—get Darynal out of Roche’s grasp. I whipped out my knife from the sheath circling my thigh. The leather strap looked like it was fastened around the illusionary trousers I was wearing.

Praying my voice had changed along with my looks, I said, “Give us all your money—jewels, whatever you got.” Yep, my voice had deepened, thank the gods. If we played guards-and-bandits, we just might confuse him long enough to throw him off guard.

Trillian took my cue and pulled out his own knife, a dangerous-looking kris. “Whatever beef you got with this guy, we don’t care. We’ll go through him to get to you if you don’t give us your money. Now!”

Roche frowned, but apparently the magic of our disguises was top-notch and he slowly lowered his knife and pushed Darynal to the ground. “You can take my pack over there.” He nodded to the table.

“Empty your pockets on the bed,” I said with a snarl, waving my blade toward his face. As he began spilling his pockets on the bed, I suddenly felt the energy shift. The camouflage was breaking. Shit, we just needed a few more moments. While Roche was focused on Trillian’s blade, which was dancing around his midcenter, I dropped my knife and whipped out the death scroll from my bag.

I had barely unfurled it when the illusion broke. Roche bellowed and grabbed for what looked like an amulet around his neck. Trillian thrust with his blade, but Roche darted away from him. He caught hold of the pendant and stared at me, his eyes gleaming as he shouted something in sorcerers’ tongue. A whirling orb of energy blasted out of the talisman.

A blink of an eye till impact. No time to leap out of the way. I steeled myself for the flames. But before I could stop him, Trillian pushed me to the side and took the blast right in the chest, shouting as the magical flame burned through his clothes.

“No!” I swung around to face Roche, bringing up the scroll. “Enough mayhem. Enough murder. Enough! Mordente dezperantum, vulchinin, mordente la saul ayt Roche!”

Time seemed to slow. My voice hung heavy in the air, the words trickling out like honey on a cold morning. Roche’s eyes grew wide and he dropped the knife. His head fell back and his mouth opened, as a black smoke poured out of his throat. Above our heads, a swirling vortex opened and sucked the smoke into it. With one last solitary shriek, Roche tumbled forward as the vortex closed.

Ignoring Roche’s body, I dropped to my knees beside Trillian. “Trillian, Trillian, are you okay?”

Darynal kicked Roche once, very hard, then joined me.

Trillian groaned, wincing with pain. There was a platter-size burn on his chest—the material had melted to him. “I’ve been better.”

“We should get a doctor—” I glanced over at Darynal.

He shook his head. “I’m skilled at healing. I have to be, living out in the woods on my own. Let me look at it.”

Within minutes, he’d stripped away the burnt clothing and was smoothing the skin with his hands. A crackle of magic told me that his healing abilities weren’t limited to herbs. The pulsing heat of Trillian’s burn began to fade. After a few moments, it was bright pink, but the worst of the blisters were gone.

“How’s the pain?” he asked Trillian.

Trillian closed his eyes, then shrugged. “Bearable. Much better. Thanks, druneh.” He took Darynal’s hand and slowly rose to his feet.

I hesitantly moved toward him. “You saved my life. You took the hit that was meant for me. Being half-human, it would have probably killed me.”

He gazed into my eyes, then reached out and stroked my lips with one finger. “How could I not? After what’s happened between us? We’re linked—I don’t know how or why, but it happened. I’m not sentimental, Camille. You’ll find that out very quickly. But what’s mine, I protect. And you are mine.”

Normally, I’d snap off a quick fuck you to any man who said that to me, but Trillian wasn’t playing testosterone games; he wasn’t being the macho he-man. He meant it, and it was true.

I slowly kissed his fingers, then bit them lightly. “And you are mine.”

“You should get the body back to headquarters now.” He motioned to Roche. “You bagged your killer. This should shut up your prick of a boss.”

“Aren’t you coming with me? You’re the one who made it possible for me to catch Roche. Without you, I’d still be trying to figure out where he was.” I wasn’t the kind of woman who took credit for other peoples’ work.

“No. I want no mention in this. You take him back, you tell them you managed to track him down, and you get that idiot off your back. Or I’ll take care of your boss in my own manner.” His eyes flashed dangerously and I realized he was more than willing to take out Lathe if I asked.

I nodded, slowly. I didn’t like lying, but in the greater scheme of things, what mattered most was that Roche was out of commission. “Thanks,” I said slowly. “I owe you one.”

Trillian shook his head. “Camille,” he said softly, “that’s another thing you’ll learn about me. With you, I won’t keep score.” He held out his arms and I slid into them. Once again, he held my heart. And in that moment, I knew what I had to do. What we had to do.

LATHE stared at Roche’s body. I’d hired a wagon to haul him back to the palace and then dragged him through the halls by the scruff of his collar, ignoring the trail of blood as his body bumped over the rough marble. I was determined that my boss wasn’t going to take credit for the catch and I made sure that every agent, guard, and noble that I’d met on the way to Lathe’s office knew that I’d taken Roche down and brought him in.

“You got him?” The look on Lathe’s face was priceless as I dumped Roche at his feet.

“No thanks to the false leads you threw my way,” I said. “But here he is. Sorry I couldn’t bring him in alive. He might have confessed that you were trying to help him get away then. But you listen to me, Lathe. Every agent and guard between here and the palace steps knows I collared Roche, so don’t you dare try to steal credit for this.” I jabbed him sharply in the chest, hard enough to leave a mark. “You play by the up and up or so help me, I’ll make sure you’re exposed for the sicko you really are.”

Lathe blinked, then reached out and grabbed my wrist. “Don’t you threaten me, little girl. You won this round, but one of these days you’re going to go too far. And then, you’ll have to run straight to me. And my price for help just went through the roof.”

I pulled away from him and backed toward the door. “You wanted Roche. I brought him in. Do I get my promotion or do I tell people what scum you are?”

Without missing a beat, Lathe turned back to his desk. “Oh, you’ll get your promotion. You’ll get a raise for this, and eventually, you’ll get a promotion. But Camille, you’re going to wish you’d played it my way. Trust me.” And with the flick of a hand, he dismissed me.

THREE nights later, Trillian was waiting for me by the doors to the temple of Eleshinar, the Fae goddess of passion and love.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” he asked, glancing up at the temple.

“I’m sure.” And I was. Sure of only one thing in the world: that this was the right thing for us to do.

“You didn’t suggest this out of some sense of obligation, did you?” Once again, he cupped my chin and gazed into my eyes. His touch was like fire, and I wanted him, all of him. “I don’t want you only because you feel guilty, or because you feel you owe me something. Especially like this.”

I clung to him. “I’m so hungry for you that I ache. I want you inside me. I want your arms around me. But there’s far more to it than that,” I whispered. “Last night, I asked the Moon Mother what I should do. And she confirmed what I was thinking. Eleshinar’s Ritual.”

“This ritual—it can’t be undone.” He gazed into my eyes, his own ice blue ones searching my face, looking for the truth of my heart. I opened myself up so that he could see . . . could see that I wanted this more than anything. That I had to go through with this.

“We’re meant to be together. What happened . . . you know we forged a link. All we’re doing is formalizing it.”

“I know. I may not pray to the gods, but I have my own sense of destiny.” Trillian shuddered. “I’ve never felt this way before. You are part of my future. And so . . . for better or worse, yes, we’ll perform the ritual.” He let out a long sigh. “What will your family say? Do they know where you are?”

“They think I’m at the Collequia, as usual.” I laughed, suddenly happy and feeling like a bride on her wedding day. “Oh babe, trust me, you don’t want to know what they’ll think. You don’t want to know.”

There was nothing more to say. I took his hand and we walked through the temple doors.

THE altar was composed of a long, cushioned dais, surrounded by tables filled with lush baskets of fruit, loaves of bread, sweet chocolates, and pastries. Another table, near the dais, held inks of all colors, and several long, thin brushes. Near the altar stood a stone tub, embedded into the floor, steamed with swirling water as the scent of roses and jasmine and ylang ylang rose to perfume the air.

Nori, the priestess I’d spoken to that morning, slowly glided up.

She was beautiful, bare-breasted, and her skirt was a sheer drape of sea foam and silk. Golden armbands encircled her upper arms, and her hair was smoothed back in a long ponytail. But most arresting, a brilliant tattoo of green and gold curled its way across her forehead to wind down the sides of her face and neck, coiling farther still to encircle her breasts and spiral in to her nipples.

When she smiled at us, the room lit up and I stared at her, unable to tear my gaze away. She laughed, her voice a tinkle on the wind, and my heart lifted. Whatever magic the priestesses of desire wielded, it was infectious.

“You are certain of this?” she asked.

“I am.” I expected to hear myself waver but my voice came out surprisingly strong, as if I wasn’t the one speaking but instead, the Lady of the Moon herself.

Nori turned to Trillian. “And you? Are you so certain, as well?”

He nodded. “I am.”

“Then we shall begin.” She gestured toward the tub. “Disrobe and enter the ritual bath.”

Suddenly shy, I began to remove my dress. I’d worn a simple shift, aware that the ritual would entail removing my clothing. It was much easier than fumbling with a bustier and buttons and ties. As I slipped the straps off my shoulders I glanced over at Trillian, all too aware that he was watching every move I made. As the shift fell away, grazing my nipples, I shivered in the cool air of the temple.

Trillian’s look said everything. Desire, passion, hunger, longing . . . it was all there. After a moment, he slid off his tunic and trousers and stood there, five-foot-ten inches of gloriously toned muscle. He looked like a statue carved out of onyx, polished and smooth. As I lowered my gaze to his hips, his cock rose, erect, smooth and with just a drop of liquid on the tip of the head. I licked my lips, aching to slide up against him.

Nori walked between us. “I can see it,” she said softly. “There is a cord that binds you already. This ritual will only be the confirmation of what you’ve already begun.”

She motioned for us to get in the tub. I carefully lowered myself into the chest-high water, spreading my arms as the bubbling warmth surrounded me. Trillian joined me, but we didn’t touch. We were forbidden to touch. Yet.

Inhaling the fragrant steam, I closed my eyes and let the stress of the week wash off me. I tried not to think about the coming months. My father would be furious, my sisters, too. But this was something that I knew would happen sooner or later, and the sooner, the better as far as I was concerned.

“Please, dip fully under the water,” Nori’s voice spiraled into my thoughts.

I held my breath and lowered myself under the water level, letting it immerse every part of me. Trillian did the same and when we came up for air, he gave me a glowing smile, all I needed to remove any lingering doubts.

We exited the bath and Nori handed us long bath sheets to wrap ourselves in. The air had grown warmer, though I couldn’t see any fireplace around. She pointed toward the dais.

“Please, lie down on your backs.”

I settled myself on the dais and she helped me adjust my soaking hair. Trillian joined me, and we lay there, not touching, inches apart, the lazy air currents playing over our bodies. I sucked in a deep breath. He was inches away and I could feel him there. I wanted to reach out, to touch, caress, but forced myself to lie still, the tension in my body driving me crazy.

Nori’s voice was a rustle on the wind as she began a faint chant. I gazed into her eyes as she leaned over me, adjusting my position. Her breasts hung heavy and full like my own. Her lips were thick and lush as she softly sang out her spell. Part of me wanted to reach up and caress her, too. But she was as far away from my grasp as the Moon Mother.

After a few moments she gently moved away. Trillian turned his head to look at me. “Are you sure?” he mouthed.

I bit my lip. “Yes. Are you having doubts?”

He shook his head. “Never. I feel like we’ve been together for years. I feel like I already know you, know your body.”

And then Nori returned, a second priestess with her.

“Liliabett.” The priestess introduced herself.

Between them, they carried the table with inks and brushes over to the dais. Nori held her hands over my chest and warmth rained down from her body. Liliabett did the same to Trillian. Living beacons of passion, they were desire incarnate.

After a moment, Nori said, “We’re ready to begin. Camille Sepharial te Maria, do you undergo this ritual freely, of your own will, knowing that what will be done can never be undone?”

I licked my lips. “Yes. I do swear.” My voice was a whisper on the wind.

“Trillian Leshon Zanzera, do you undergo this ritual freely, of your own will, knowing that what will be done can never be undone?” Liliabett’s voice was the perfect counterpoint, as sultry and warm as Nori’s was cool and melodic.

“I do, by my oath and honor.” His voice spiraled up and then out as if he’d never said a word.

“Then we begin.”

Nori narrowed her brow, focusing on me as she lifted a fine-tipped brush and dipped it into a silver paint pot. With a steady hand, she began to trace an outline on my forehead, a swirl of glyphs, fine-lined and delicately fashioned. I closed my eyes as she worked, line by line covering my face.

The tracing tickled, but I remained perfectly still as she worked her way down my neck, leaving a trail of runes that sang as they touched my skin. Magic, her art was, and magic was the paint.

Onto my shoulders, working in silence, she deftly covered me. And then to my chest, making me suck in a quick breath as desire rose fiercely. She stroked my nipples with the tip of the brush, then the curve of my breasts, the undercarriage and down to my torso.

I began to drift, the rhythmic kiss of the brush lulling me into an erotic haze. The bristles flickered over my stomach, then down to my thighs and across my mound. She gently nudged open my thighs and spread open my labia, painting runes along my pussy and onto my clitoris. I shuddered, trying to control the hunger that flared as she touched me.

And down my legs, along my knees, encircling my ankles, she went. By the time she finished, I saw that Trillian was as covered—and aroused—as I was. The paint dried quickly, and we gently flipped onto our stomachs. The priestesses worked their way down our backsides, covering every inch of us with the silver glyphs and symbols.

When they were finally done, they asked us to stand. I gazed down at myself—a vision of silver fire on pale skin. Trillian cleared his throat. He was silver on black, the contrast incredibly beautiful. Like spun metal shining against dark velvet.

“Follow us,” Nori said, and the two women led us out of the main chamber and into a private room, in which there was a bed that sat atop a floor covered in runes. She held out a bottle as we knelt in front of her.

Liliabett reached for my hand and I offered it, palm up. She placed a silver goblet beneath my palm and with a curved blade, slashed an inch-long shallow gash across the pad. As I watched, blood spilled into the goblet. After a moment, she did the same with Trillian.

Nori poured the contents of the bottle into the goblet and a swirl of smoke rose, boiling over the rim. She held the goblet out to me.

“Take it.”

As I held the glass, she began to sing a low song in a language I didn’t understand. But her energy flared brightly. She was a shining jewel.

“Drink and bind yourself through your bodies, through your souls.”

I lifted the goblet, then glanced at Trillian. This was it. There was no going back. Before I could think about it, I swallowed a mouthful of the potion and fire raced through my body, arching me back. I would have dropped the goblet, but Nori caught it and handed it to Trillian, who tipped it to his lips and finished what was left. He shivered, clutching his arms to his chest as the pain took hold.

Nori stepped back. “And now, one thing remains to seal your union. If you do not consummate your relationship now, you will forever be half-bound, weak and hating each other. You must finish the ritual.”

She and Liliabett excused themselves from the room.

I turned to Trillian, barely able to stand, the spasms were so intense. But as I tried to sort through the pain, I realized what I was feeling was actually desire—aching, searing lust so strong that it was cramping my body.

Trillian lifted his head to look at me. Behind the veil of his sky blue eyes, I could see the primal god. The lord of the forest, the lord of the rut, the lord of the horn. He leapt to his feet and for a brief moment I was afraid, but then the cramps hit again and all I could think about was finding a way to ease the gnawing hunger.

Panting, I stumbled toward the bed and he followed, his gaze never leaving mine. As I danced to one side, he reached out and grasped my waist, his touch firm and demanding.

“I will have you,” he whispered, his voice almost a grunt.

Shivering, confused by the flurry of pain, I pulled away and he followed, grabbing my wrist to whirl me around and back me up against the wall.

“Let me in, Camille. Let me in.” His hands planted on either side of me, he leaned against me. My pulse fluttered as he lowered his lips to mine, and then we were bathed in a silver light as his tongue played over mine and he enfolded me in his arms.

We began to spin, around and around he twirled me as his chest pressed against my breasts. I gasped, trying to clear my head, then pulled him to the bed. He loomed over me, his lips seeking my breasts as his fingers danced their way onto my clit. As he stroked my fire, I cried out and grasped his shoulders.

“You’re the golden man,” I whispered. “You taste like honey, sweet and warm and rich and thoroughly fine.”

“And you’re my queen, and you taste like moonlight and starflowers and the echo of birds at sunset.”

He lowered himself to the outer lips of my pussy, setting off a string of explosions. Firecrackers sizzled one after another along my body, and all I could think about was that Trillian was about to slide his gorgeous, smooth cock into me and how much I wanted every inch of him, in every possible way.

“Fuck me,” I begged him. “Don’t make me wait any longer, please fuck me. Hard. Take me hard and rough—I don’t want gentle.”

Trillian let out a guttural laugh and plunged, driving himself into my core.

Under a shower of sparks that ricocheted through my body, I moaned and shifted my hips as he picked up the pace, pumping gently at first, then grinding into me, each thrust sending me into a shockwave of pleasure.

As we rode the wave, I began to notice through the sex haze that my skin was hurting. I glanced at Trillian’s shoulder and gasped. The silver markings had begun to writhe, they were boiling like a swarm of creatures across his body and I knew that my own runes were doing the same. But the friction of our heat pulled my attention back to him.

I clung to him as he thrust, deep and hard with that silken cock of his. His skin was warm against mine, a perfect fit and in some little corner of my mind, I realized that I’d never had it so good in bed, never felt the same sense of connection before.

Everybody else saw me as the rock, the anchor, or—in the case of men—just a good fuck to hook up with and leave behind. But Trillian’s eyes gazed at my soul; he was staring down at me and he was seeing me. All of me—both sides of my heritage, and he didn’t flinch, didn’t look away.

As thought began to slip away, and I came to the edge, the markings on my body began to burn. I let out a sharp cry as Trillian grunted, wincing.

“What’s happening?” I flailed, unable to stop either the pain or the rush toward orgasm. Every rune had become a flaming brand and with every move, their flames grew brighter.

“The ritual—it’s part of the ritual,” Trillian gasped out. “Can’t stop . . . would . . . kill us . . .”

Everything took on the color of violet fire as the magical silver on our bodies burrowed deep beneath the skin, hissing and tattooing themselves through muscle and skin. Goading me with as much pleasure as pain, they pushed me toward the edge, toward the final release.

And then I looked up at Trillian. But instead of seeing his face, I realized I was looking through his eyes at myself. The braid that had spontaneously bound us had melted into a thick cord of silver and flame and passion and lust. The beating of his heart synchronized with mine, and in that moment, I felt his spirit pass through me and back into himself. Then, in a cascade of silver fire, came release.

THE pain subsided as we lay there, exhausted. I shivered and Trillian drew the blankets up to cover us. He slid his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. The markings had disappeared from the surface of our skin, but they were there, beneath muscle and bone, tattooed into our spirits, binding us forever.

“What next?” I asked. “Where will this lead? What’s going to happen now?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “I only know that you belong to me. You are mine, Camille. Even if you share yourself with others, you’ll always belong to me. I’m your alpha. I’m your mate.”

As he spoke, an image flashed through my head. A dragon circled overhead as a fox watched from below. Quickly the images came, and just as quickly, they were gone. I blinked, wiping my eyes. I was tired and spent. But in my heart, I knew that they related to the future—to our future. Just like I knew that a shadow loomed, waiting for me to discover it. And Trillian would be there to help me weather the approaching storm.

But I left all of that unsaid. Instead, I kissed him back, savoring the taste of his lips on mine. “Yes, I belong to you. And you belong to me. You saved my life, you saved me from humiliation at my boss’s hand. And I think . . . you saved me from myself.”

“What do you mean?” His voice was low.

I let out a long sigh. “I don’t know. But in time I think I’ll understand. And for some reason, the idea of that knowledge makes me very much afraid.”

“Hush,” he said, tapping me on the nose. “Don’t worry about what might happen. Live for today. There may be no tomorrow, so for now, enjoy what we have and revel in it. I know I’m going to.”

Trillian sought my lips again, and in the silver fire of his kiss, I forgot about visions and shadows and the future. For now, there was only his touch and my touch, and the merging of souls and bodies.

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Playlist for Etched in Silver

3 Doors Down:

“Kryptonite”

Aerosmith:

“Dream On”

Blue Öyster Cult:

“(Don’t Fear) the Reaper”

David Bowie:

“I’m Afraid of Americans”
“Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed”

The Bravery:

“Believe”

Brother Noland:

“Coconut Girl”

Death Cab for Cutie:

“I Will Possess Your Heart”

Dead Can Dance:

“The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove”
“Yulunga”
“Indus”

Depeche Mode:

“If You Want”

Finger Eleven:

“Paralyzer”

Fleetwood Mac:

“The Chain”
“Gold Dust Woman”

Heart:

“Magic Man”

Gary Numan:

“Bridge? What Bridge?”
“War Songs”
“Sleep by Windows”

Gorillaz:

“Every Planet We Reach Is Dead”

Lenny Kravitz:

“American Woman”

Nine Inch Nails:

“Closer”

Nirvana:

“Heart-Shaped Box”
“You Know You’re Right”

Orgy:

“Blue Monday”

Police:

“Every Breath You Take”
“King of Pain”
“Invisible Sun”

Pussycat Dolls:

“Buttons”
“Don’t Cha”

Rob Zombie:

“Never Gonna Stop”

Rolling Stones:

“Play with Fire”
“Gimme Shelter”

Seether:

“Remedy”

Simple Minds:

“Don’t You (Forget About Me)”

Thomas Dolby:

“She Blinded Me with Science”

Thompson Twins:

“The Gap”
“Watching”
“Love on Your Side”
“Sister of Mercy”

Toadies:

“Possum Kingdom”

U2:

“Elevation”
“Vertigo”

Ween:

“The Golden Eel”

Zero 7:

“In the Waiting Line”

Midwinter Memories from the D’Artigo Sisters

I asked Camille, Delilah, and Menolly what their most striking memories from their childhood Yule celebrations were, and here’s what they had to say:

Camille: What I remember most from my childhood is how our mother loved the holidays. She’d taken our customs, added her own, and created a truly beautiful blend for the Midwinter celebration. She would fill the house with holly and evergreens, and white poinsettias and red carnations and starberry flowers the color of gold.

Each year Father brought in a tree and we’d decorate it with spikes of polished quartz and delicate porcelain ornaments that Mother had made, and we hung baked cookies in the shape of stars and suns and moons from the branches, along with garlands of strung berries.

Mother had a special ornament that she’d had since her childhood—one of the few things that had belonged to her mother and father. The piece was lovely, a delicate sphere of blown glass, with her family name—D’Artigo—inscribed on it in glittering ink.

The year I’m thinking about, Delilah was still toddling around, and Menolly was in diapers. Mother said I could help her trim the tree. I was so excited, and I wanted to hang up the special ornament but she told me no, it was too delicate. When I was a little older she’d let me put it on the tree. Well, I had other ideas. I waited until she wasn’t looking and then I took the ornament out of its box and started to carry it over to the tree. I wanted to put it up high, where everybody could see it, so I tried to use one of my spells. It was a simple levitation spell, one most witches my age could do, but of course, being me, something went haywire and crash, the ornament dropped to the ground.

I was in tears and so was Mother. Although she didn’t scold me, not much, I knew I’d screwed up big time. Father read me the riot act and I knew I deserved it.

Well, a few days later he came home with a present for Mother. When she opened it, I heard her give a little gasp. Mother’s hand fluttered to her throat, and she got this teary-eyed look that made me want to hug her.

In the box were three perfect handblown glass spheres, and each one had one of our names on it—Camille, Delilah, and Menolly. He told Mother he couldn’t replace her childhood keepsake, but he could create new ones for the family she had now. That was her favorite gift of all that he ever gave her, and each year, she would gently help the three of us girls as we each hung our ornament on the tree, and then we’d go out to celebrate the Yule ritual with the city. I miss those days.

Delilah: If I have to pick a midwinter memory that sticks out the most, it would be the year after our mother died. All three of us girls missed her terribly, but I think I was having the hardest time adjusting. And Father didn’t have the faintest clue of how to proceed with the holy days. He wanted to make life whole for us, but he was hurting so much from losing her that there’s no way he could get it together for us.

We were still fairly young, all three of us, though Camille was in her early teens, by Earthside standards, and she’d been trying to pick up the pieces and make life as normal as she could for Menolly and me. She asked our cousin Shamas to help her go cut down a tree, and she did her best to emulate Mother, guiding us to decorate it and asking the cook to prepare the holiday favorites during the season. Father was struggling to cope, and I guess he decided Camille was doing a good job helping us two younger girls, so he sort of sat back and let her do what she wanted.

But there was one problem—gifts. Our mother had always given us gifts, but Father totally spaced it out. Camille didn’t want to ask Aunt Rythwar—who’d already been of so much help—so she decided to get them on her own. None of the rest of the family would help, because Mother had been human and we were half-breeds.

But Camille heard there was a leprechaun in the woods, so she decided to find him and see if he’d give her a wish. Leprechauns are notorious for hiding during the day, so a few nights before Midwinter, she snuck out of the house and went off into the woods to find him. I’m not sure what exactly happened, but she got horribly lost. Eventually, she lucked out and ran across the leprechaun, who took pity on her. He said he’d give her a wish, but he also brought her home and pounded on the door in the middle of the night. Father hadn’t even realized she’d been gone, and I guess it was a wakeup call, reminding him that he had three daughters who needed him because after that, he became an active member of the family again.

I was listening behind the door when Camille asked the leprechaun—who still offered to grant her a wish—if he could bring our mother back to life. She burst into tears when he said he couldn’t, but he did give her three magic gifts, one for each of us girls, and a package for Father.

The next morning, on Yuletide Day, we opened the gifts. Menolly found a glass flute and she played it for years until the Elwing Blood Clan took away her breath. Father’s package contained an oval picture frame with a picture of Mother in it—she would forever be smiling at him. My own gift was a spidersilk walking skirt—I needed a new one and it would keep me warm when I went wandering through the woods.

But Camille’s gift was the best of all, and she deserved it for all the trouble she’d gone to. The leprechaun gave Camille a little vial of moon shimmer—captured beams from the Moon Mother. Whenever she needed comforting, she held it in her hand and the Moon Mother’s energy embraced her with sparkling light and held her safe and warm, just like she tried to do for Menolly and me. And I think it’s still in her jewelry box.

Menolly: My favorite memory of the holidays in Otherworld is of the celebrations Y’Elestrial held each year. On Midwinter’s Night most of the citizens of the city gather at the banks overlooking the Erulizi Falls, which pour into Lake Y’Leveshan. The lake and the falls are always iced over during the winter, sparkling like crystal under the snow-showered night. Everyone gathers around the shores to celebrate the Snow Queen and the Holly King, who rule over the winter months. Magic flows like honey and by morning, when the sun rises, the frozen fields are shimmering under the weight of the newly fallen snow. Right before dawn, the children awake to join the parade to the Altar of the Ancients.

Only children are allowed to take part in the parade, led by a priestess of the shrine. The older children carry the younger ones. I remember filing through the deep snow, into the forest until we reached the Tengmar Grove where the shrine to the Ancient Dreaming Ones rests. There we would gather in a circle around Mother Dream Walker—who is the matriarch of the forest unicorns, and each year, she sang to us the tales and legends from days long gone by. And each year, she would choose two girls to join the Order of the Ancient Sisterhood.

The priestesses of Mother Dream Walker are historians: They keep the songs and tales and legends that have passed down since long before the Great Divide. They tuck them safe within a secret barrow somewhere in the woodlands, and they also remember them by heart. To remember the past is their only task.

I wanted so bad to be one of the girls picked—each year I waited and waited for my name to be called, but it never was. I suppose I don’t have the temperament for the Sisterhood, but I kept hoping. The last year I was allowed to attend—Camille and Delilah had already been excluded a few years before me—I prayed all day, begging the Great Mother to let my name be one of the ones called that night. But the singing came and went, and then they chose two girls who were quiet, good at their studies, who never stood out much among the city children. I knew then that I’d never join the ranks of the Sisterhood—adults were never chosen. I left, crying, and it took me days to get over the heartbreak. I was never again allowed to go to the Grove, but I’ll always remember the parades, and the magical moments in the Grove. Those were the most beautiful nights of my life.

Following is a special excerpt from

SHADED VISION
the next book in the Otherworld series by Yasmine Galenorn

Coming February 2012!

1

“I’m going to be sick! Move!” Iris shoved past me and ran to the bathroom. I could hear her retching and then, after a moment, the toilet flushed and the sound of water ran in the sink.

Grimacing, I decided she could manage on her own and busied myself by putting the finishing touches on my outfit. I wasn’t a fashion maven, and all I could think was, Please, oh please, let me be dressed up enough for tonight.

My jeans were new, for a change, with no rips, and dark black, and I was wearing a bright fuchsia tank top with a rhinestone kitty on the front. I’d traded my utilitarian leather belt for a white leather one with a silver buckle, and I’d grudgingly changed my shit-kicker boots for a pair of suede ankle boots with three-inch heels, which put me at an even six four.

My spiky hairdo was back to the golden shade it normally ran, although I’d waffled and finally asked Iris to add in some chunky platinum highlights and a few thin black ones, so now I had tiger-striped spikes. The vining leaf tattoos on my arms had darkened some—with each passing week, they seemed to fill in a little more. Camille had helped me with my makeup, and I looked reasonably ready for clubbing, even though my typical evening was spent hanging around in front of the TV with Shade, curled up eating junk food and trading kisses. That is, when we weren’t out kicking demon ass.

I slipped into my black leather jacket and patiently sat on the edge of the bed, playing with one of my kitty toys. The squeaky mouse had become a favorite of mine and—even in human form—it made me grin. I shook it until it let out a string of loud squeaks.

Iris poked her head out of the bathroom.

“Will you stopthat damn noise? You’ve been obsessed with that toy night and day for the past two weeks. If you don’t put it down, I’m going to toss it in the garbage.”

“Not my squeaky mouse!” I quickly dropped it on the floor. I loved my squeaky mouse, and nobody was going to take it away from me.

Iris had fixed her makeup and, with a look that told me she wasn’t at all sure about our plans for the evening, she edged out of the tiled room and shouldered a smile. “Do I look okay?”

Grumpy notwithstanding, I could tell she was anxious. Six weeks pregnant, even though she wasn’t showing yet; her hormones were playing her like Jimi Hendrix played his guitar. Add to that, tomorrow she was getting married, and our Talon-haltija sprite was as jumpy as a cat in a thunderstorm.

“You look beautiful,” I said.

Iris was radiant, for all she was going through. Her ankle-length hair shone like spun gold, and her skin was smooth and flawless—pregnancy agreed with her. Her eyes were luminous, round, and blue as the early morning. And she still had her figure—she was curvy and buxom and for all her size, at three ten, she put me to shame.

She stared at me for a moment. As she cautiously dashed at her tears, trying to keep from messing up her mascara, she gave me a blissful smile. “You’re so sweet. Can you braid my hair for me? I sure wish I had Smoky’s ability to order it to fix itself.”

“I think a lot of people want a taste of Smoky’s talents.” I sat her down and divided her hair into three sections. “I know I’d love to come out looking peachy clean every time we fight a battle.”

After I wove one section over the other and finished it off with an elastic-coated rubber band, Iris coiled it around her head in an intricate pattern, leaving the tail end of it hanging down to her midback like a tidy ponytail. We added a brilliant yellow bow. It reminded me a lot of Barbara Eden’s hairdo in I Dream of Jeannie.

“I wish you could, too. Then I wouldn’t have so much laundry to do.”

She laughed and smoothed her skirt—a gorgeous cobalt blue number she’d paired with a pale gray button-down shirt and a pair of pumps that matched the color of her hair bow. The Finnish house sprite looked like a pretty secretary rather than the high priestess she was. Talon-haltijas were good at blending in. Even when they could whip your butt in a battle.

“Ready?” I stood, reaching for my purse.

She closed her eyes and pressed one hand against her stomach. “My stomach feels like it won’t ever be ready for anything again, but let’s get a move on.” As we left my room, she glanced up at me. “By this time tomorrow, I’ll be Iris O’Shea. Bruce’s wife. What the hell am I doing?”

I laughed at her panicked expression. “You’re marrying the leprechaun you love, Iris. And you’re going to have his baby, so you might as well get used to it. Life’s changing.” Cocking my head, I added, “So, you’re taking his last name?”

She nodded. “If Kuusi were my family name, I’d hyphenate. But . . . as much as I loved the Kuusis, they weren’t exactly family. I worked for them, I cared about them, but when it comes down to it, they were my employers. So I figure, I’m starting over yet another time, so I might as well start with another new name. Only this time, someone I love is attached to it. You’re right. Life is changing. And I’m embracing it.”

As we headed downstairs, I realized that was so true for all of us. Life was changing all around us. Some things for the better, some things not. And there was no way to stop the ride now that we’d all gotten on board.

The guys were sitting around the living room looking guilty. Not sure what they were up to, I gave them a sideways glance as we passed into the foyer and then the kitchen, where my two sisters—Camille and Menolly—were waiting with Menolly’s lover, Nerissa. A trail of wolf whistles followed, and Iris gave me a look and shook her head.

“They’ll be out like a light by the time we get home, want to make a bet?”

“I kind of hope so.” I really didn’t want to think about what kind of trouble they could get up to without us there to supervise.

Menolly’s coppery cornrows shimmered under the lights, and she was dressed in blue—tight jeans and a denim jacket over a rust-colored turtleneck. Her boots were even made of denim, and they sported thin stiletto spikes, almost as high as Camille’s.

Camille, on the other hand, was fully decked out in her usual fetish noir. Chiffon skirt, with a green under bust long-line waist cincher with black boning and silver hooks and eyes, beneath which she wore a shiny black spaghetti-strap top that left nothing to the imagination with regard to her DD breasts. She balanced on a pair of sky-high stilettos that I couldn’t even imagine wearing and was carrying a sparkly black wrap.

Nerissa, who was munching on a bread stick she’d found in the cupboard, wore a flirty, tiered, powder-pink skirt that barely covered her butt, and a glitzy tank top. Strong, lean, and muscled, she was an Amazon of a woman, a werepuma who wasn’t afraid to tackle life with my sister the vampire—and she was always ready to party.

Camille lit up as we entered the room. “You both look great. Sharah’s meeting us at the club. Come on, let’s get this show on the road and leave the house to the guys. Trillian told me they’ve got a fully stocked bar, but he didn’t say anything about a stripper . . . I’d be surprised if they don’t just end up playing games on that damned Xbox all evening.”

Supes or not, some of our lovers and cohorts had developed an addiction to video games. It seemed odd to watch two grown demons battling it out over Super Mario or whatever was the latest Xbox rage, but they took it seriously.

“What about Maggie? Who’s looking after her?”

“Don’t you worry about our baby gargoyle. Hanna’s watching her. Maggie has really taken to her.” Iris picked up her purse. “I’m ready.”

“Then we’re ready.” Camille arranged her shawl. “Bruce gave us the use of his limo and driver. Ladies, our chariot awaits.”

“At least we aren’t headed out to get our butts kicked.”

I peeked back in the living room at the guys. They looked innocent enough, but the amount of trouble an incubus, a demon, a leprechaun, a dragon, an FBH (full-blooded human), one of the dark Fae, and a half dragon, half shadow walker could get into boggled my mind. Without us to keep an eye on things, they’d probably wreck the house.

Iris must have been reading my mind because as we clattered down the porch steps, she muttered, “Here’s praying Hanna can keep those men in line.”

“Hanna’s a tough woman, but I don’t know if she’s that tough.” Camille nodded to the limo. “Bruce’s driver is named Tony; tip him big tonight. Okay, let’s go, ladies. Iris, this is your last night as a free woman; we’re going to live it up.”

“Just so long as my supper stays where it’s supposed to,” Iris countered.

As we maneuvered through the melting snow—spring was finally on the way and, though it was still cold, most of the harsh winter snows were standing puddles of slush and mud now—Tony got out of the car to open the doors for us.

The limo was lush; roomy enough for six in the backseat. I decided to push my worries away for the evening. Nothing would go wrong. It was the night before Valentine’s Day—and the night before Iris’s wedding. The gods had to be kind to us at least once, didn’t they?

The Demented Zombie lived up to all the hype except for its name. Though not a high-class club, the disco seriously rocked. It was run by a Fae couple from Otherworld; they had named it after a cocktail they served. I was determined to find out if the drink lived up to the hype.

We slid through the crowd.

“Do you think we’ll be able to find a table?” I looked at the crowd on the dance floor. Most of them were women, and I had a sudden suspicion Menolly and Nerissa had brought us to a lesbian bar. “Hey, this a gay bar? Not that it matters, but . . .”

“Not so much. And we’ve got reservations for the big table in back they keep for parties, so chill.” Menolly shouldered her way ahead, and after a moment, we caught sight of the bar. She winked at the bartender—who looked like your average hunky guy, except I could tell he was Were—and motioned us over to the big table that had balloons surrounding it. Dangling ribbons. I stared at them for a moment. My tabby self stirred, wanting to come out and play, but I forced the instincts down long enough to turn to Camille.

“Balloons—ribbons? You think such a good idea around me?”

She snorted. “Can’t you control yourself for one night? Sometimes I think you use the fact that you’re a werecat as an excuse for bad behavior. Now, be a good kitten, Delilah, and don’t tear up the joint.”

As we slid into the booth around the table, a familiar voice echoed through the crowd, and Sharah hustled up, carrying a large pale silver box wrapped in a pink ribbon. Her blond hair caught back in a sleek ponytail, the elf looked very sixties. Waiflike in her go-go dress and white knee-high boots, she made retro work.

Sharah was Chase’s girlfriend. Chase used to be my boyfriend, but we broke up and now were good buddies. Sharah had slipped in to fill the void, and they seemed to be grooving together. Whatever the case, I knew enough to keep my nose out of it.

She handed me her present for Iris, and I put it with the others on a side table as the waitress came up to take our orders. We quickly went around the table. Iris couldn’t drink, of course, so she ordered a glass of orange juice. Camille ordered a rum and Coke, Nerissa asked for a mai tai, Sharah and I ordered Demented Zombies, and Menolly ordered a bloody vamp—which was actually just blood, but it sounded better with a cool name.

“Here—you have to wear this tonight.” Camille pulled out a rhinestone tiara with a miniature veil attached and plunked it on top of Iris’s head.

“Only if you guys are wearing party hats, too.” Iris shook her finger at us, at which Nerissa pulled out a pack of sparkling princess crowns. We all slid the cardboard hats on as Iris grinned and adjusted her tiara.

The music started—Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way”—and Menolly and Nerissa excused themselves to the dance floor. They were a stunning pair; as their dancing got dirtier, they began to pull in looks from both sides of the fence. I stifled a snort—some of the women looked jealous, and others looked at them like they were the best thing since sliced bread. The few men around didn’t seem interested in anybody but each other. Not a gay bar, my ass.

A rather tall biker chick tapped Camille on the arm. “Dance?”

Camille blinked but then grinned and excused herself to work the floor as the music turned to “Weapon of Choice.” After a few seconds, Biker Chick was looking mighty impressed; Camille had lost herself to the music and they went spinning around the floor, Biker Chick’s arm hooked around Camille’s waist.

“I’m glad to see her smile,” Iris whispered to me.

“Yeah, after Hyto’s attack, I wasn’t sure how she’d come through.” I leaned down so Iris could hear me. The noise in the place was deafening.

“It will take some time for her to fully move on, but I think she’ll be okay, eventually. Her men help a lot, especially Smoky, though it can’t be easy for them since he looks so much like his father.”

Sharah leaned across the table. “Nerissa’s counseling will help, and at least Hyto didn’t infect her with any disease.”

“My sister’s doing a remarkable job. She always pulls through.”

I couldn’t forgive our father, though, for not standing up for her after he knew what had happened. That he’d sat in our living room, listening as she told him what horrors the crazed dragon had put her through, and then had chosen to leave, had hardened my heart to him. His own daughter, kidnapped and raped, and he walked away. Our cousin Shamas had threatened to go home and confront him about it. We persuaded him to hold off, but I had the feeling he was so pissed that he might do so without our consent.

Iris tapped her fingers on the table in time to the music as the others returned from the dance floor.

“Did you want to dance?” Menolly asked.

She shook her head. “Not the best idea. Stomach’s queasy.”

Sharah handed her a packet of saltines. “Here, these will help.”

Iris munched on them. “I see presents—and they’re unopened.” She grinned, motioning to the stack of boxes on the side table. We’d brought gifts from the guys, too.

“Not just yet,” I said, glancing at Camille and Menolly. I’d been in charge of the party, much to their dismay, and one of the first things I’d decided was that we were going to entertain Iris to the max. “Up, you two.”

Camille grimaced. “Oh please, do we have to?”

“Yes, as excruciating as Delilah’s yowls can be. We have to.” Menolly’s eyes were pale as frost, but she smiled a toothy grin. “Come on.”

A path opened in front of our table to reveal the stage and a karaoke machine. I snickered.

“You just wait. I’ll get you for this.” Camille shook her head, leaping lightly up on the stage.

“Hey, Menolly’s not complaining.”

“She can sing! You and I are pathetic . . . well . . . mostly.”

We clambered up on the stage and Menolly swung around in front of us, striking a pose with legs spread and both hands around the microphone. Camille and I took up our stations as her backup singers. The music swept in, and, with a deep breath, we dove into our rendition of “We Are Family.”

We turned on the glamour, dropping our masks so our charm shone through, and the crowd went wild, laughing with us and clapping along. We spun and twisted to the music, throwing our hearts into it. Even though Camille and I weren’t that great in the vocal department, we warbled away while Menolly carried the song. We’d been practicing in secret for over a week now, and though we weren’t polished, we were doing a pretty good job keeping a beat to the music.

Menolly leaped off the stage, carrying the microphone with her, and danced her way over to Iris. Gently lifting the sprite onto her shoulder, with another leap she made her way back onto the stage, where she set Iris down and we surrounded her, singing as she clapped and swayed to the music.

People started throwing dollars on the stage “for the bride” and, by the time we finished, jazz hands and all, we’d collected seventy-five bucks and a couple rounds of free drinks, which put an end to Camille’s and my being able to sing anything.

“You guys are great,” Iris said as we headed back to the table. “And thank you. Presents now?”

I laughed, a little too loud, and burped. How many drinks had I managed to put away? I counted—there were only four glasses in front of me, but the Demented Zombie was one hell of a drink and packed more than a punch. I wasn’t sure what was in it, but it was better than catnip.

I glanced around. I’d arranged for some special entertainment for the evening and—and . . . there he was. The guy was fine, gorgeous, with dark hair to his shoulders. Even beneath his policeman’s outfit, it was obvious that he was ripped. I motioned to him and he sidled over to the table. The music dimmed and everyone around us turned to watch.

“Are you Iris Kuusi?” His voice was smooth—so smooth it made me want to slide up against him.

She blushed bright red and her eyes glistened. “Yes . . . ?”

“Iris Kuusi, you have the right to scream as loud as you want. You have the right to let me arouse you—” And with that, he motioned to someone at the counter, and Amanda Blank blared out from the speakers as his hips began to move.

He was a great dancer, keeping up to the beat in perfect rhythm with the rapper even as he—woo-hoo ! There went the jacket, tossed on the ground near him. As he slid his hands to the cuffs of his shirt, he jerked and the shirt landed in Iris’s lap. Gleaming muscles flexed as he clasped his hands behind his head and swiveled his hips in a move that put Elvis the Pelvis to shame.

“Wow,” Sharah said, breathing softly. “Just . . . Wow . . .”

“Wow is right.” I felt a little glassy-eyed myself. He looked far better than I thought he would, and his dance was just . . . well . . . the way he moved his hips had me thinking about a different kind of bump and grind. Oh yeah.

Camille was looking at him suspiciously, and Menolly looked bored, staring at the crowd, but Nerissa, Sharah, and Iris were all fixated on the dancer. He slid his hips from side to side and caught my attention once again, as he grabbed hold of the waistband and—just like that—the pants flew off and over to the side.

Now in a tight G-string leaving nothing to the imagination, with fringe shimmering down the sides and in front, he began to gyrate toward Iris, whose eyes had gone immensely wide as she stared at what was coming toward her.

I was staring, too, but suddenly realized that my attention was no longer on the stripper, but on his fringe. Boy, that fringe looked like it would be fun to play with—to bat around, to yank on, to chew on . . . to . . .

Before I could stop myself, I was shifting right at the table. A few screams echoed around me, but mostly, I heard a lot of laughter. None of it mattered as I pounced on the object of my lust. Those strings—those glorious strings, all dangling and fluttering, calling my name—and all I wanted to do was reach out and grab one and have my way with it.

“Delilah! No!” Camille’s voice echoed from across the table, but the fringe was too pretty and too dangly. The next thing I knew, I’d sideswiped Stripper Boy’s thigh and was hanging from his G-string, several of the pieces of fringe in my mouth, tugging on it.

“What the fuck? Where’d the cat come from?” The guy suddenly didn’t seem quite as thrilled as I felt. As he tried to pull away, I yanked harder.

Menolly put her arms around my tummy and tried to pry me away. Determined that the fringe was going to come with me—it was my toy, damn it—I held on for dear life.

Riiiippppppp . . . and the G-string gave way. Triumphant, I gripped the fringed banana hammock in my mouth and shook it, purring. I glanced up at Menolly, waiting for my praise. The least she could do was tell me what a good girl I was.

The stripper, trying to get away from my claws, fell toward Iris in the process but managed to catch himself on the edge of the table. Iris stared at the dangling penis that now hung, free as a bird, dangling inches away from her face. She looked fascinated at first—or so I thought from my cat’s fuzzy brain—but then as she opened her mouth to speak, she started to cough and, the next moment, vomited all over the stripper’s goodies.

From there, it was all downhill. There was no way to salvage the evening after that. As the stripper disgustedly wiped down with a towel the barkeep gave him, I managed to gain enough control to shift back. Still tipsy, and with the taste of sweat-soaked G-string in my mouth, I cleared my throat, trying to stay steady on my feet.

Iris was wiping her mouth, totally embarrassed. Sharah and Menolly were taking care of the stripper—I saw a few extra twenties pass hands. Camille had moved over to their side.

“Dude, you’ve got some sort of glamour going on. Don’t deny it—I can sense it a mile away. You’re an FBH—full-blooded human. So what gives?” Her voice was low, but loud enough for me to catch.

He jerked his head up and stared at her. “Babe, I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t even try with me, dude. You have no clue who you’re dealing with. I just want to know where you got the potion. There’ll be an extra fifty in it if you tell me the truth. And I’ll know if you lie.” She pulled out her purse and waved a fifty-dollar bill under his nose.

He paused, then cleared his throat. I tried to focus on what he was saying, but it was hard because the drinks and shifting and the promise of those dangling fringe pieces had all clouded my mind.

After a moment, the stripper shrugged. “What the hell. Why not? I got it from a little shop in south Seattle. Name’s Alchemy for Lovers, and they said that if I put three drops on my dick before a performance, it would increase my profits. Boy, were they right.” He gave a sideways glance to Iris, then me. “Well, until tonight, that is. Damn stuff burns a bit, but hey, it makes sex better, too.”

He sounded vaguely hopeful, but Camille motioned for him to leave.

The bartender was giving us dirty looks, so Menolly gathered up the presents. With Nerissa carrying the cake and Camille helping guide me, we stumbled out to the limo. Tony was waiting for us right where he’d parked. He opened the doors and we crawled in.

Nerissa sat up front with him, holding the cake; Camille and Iris sat on one side, while Menolly, Sharah, and I sat on the other side of the backseat, and we set off for home to finish partying where we wouldn’t chance ruining anybody else’s evening.

We pulled in the driveway and slid out of the limo just in time to see Vanzir and Roz tossing each other around the yard. They were both stripped to their waists, oiled down, and involved in what looked like some sort of Greco-Roman wrestling match.

“What the hell . . . ?” Camille stared at them, then shook her head.

“I’m not even going to ask.” My head was pounding. Apparently the Demented Zombies weren’t agreeing with me. As I squinted, I saw Bruce stumbling around, chasing a dog that looked suspiciously like Speedo, the neighbor’s basset hound. He was carrying a pair of bunny ears.

“Holy crap, how much have they had to drink?”

“I dunno, but we’ve got a pair of dragons on the roof.” She pointed to where Smoky and Shade were sitting on top of the roof, dangling their legs over the side. Neither looked too cozy, but they were talking and not arguing for once. A pile of rocks near the cars told us they’d been taking potshots. At least they hadn’t broken any windshields.

As we stumbled our way into the house, we found cousin Shamas, Morio, and Chase in the living room, playing poker. The table was covered with change and dollar bills, and it looked like Chase was wiping the floor with both of them. Empty bottles of Nebelvuourian brandy and Elqaneve wine were strewn about, along with a couple empties of Irish whiskey. The smell of cigars made me want to hurl, and I glanced at Camille, who was also wrinkling her nose, and opened the window to air out the place.

“Honey, you’re home!” Morio glanced up at Camille. As he stood up, he tripped and went sprawling at her feet, where he stayed down, reaching out to play with her strappy shoes.

“You’re drunk.” She moved her feet just out of reach.

“Ya think?” Morio burped and promptly dragged himself to his feet, where he threw one arm around her shoulders and one arm around Menolly’s. Camille glanced at Menolly, who quickly sidestepped out of Morio’s embrace. He still wasn’t over the bond that had developed when some of her blood was injected into his veins, but Menolly seemed to have shaken it off. . . or at least she acted like it.

“You’re all drunk.” I glanced around as Shade and Smoky followed us in, clutching Bruce between them. “Well, maybe not those two, but geez . . .”

The pair seemed relatively sober, but then again, they were dragons and it probably took a whole keg of hard liquor to even begin to get a dragon bombed.

Smoky took the cake from Sharah and carried it to the kitchen, returning with Trillian, who had his nose in a book. One look at Iris’s pained face and Trillian set down the book and slipped back into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a package of saltines and some ginger ale. She smiled and sipped the soft drink.

As the guys sprawled out in the living room and we joined them, Iris made the mistake of telling them about the stripper.

Smoky leaned forward, his eyes whirling. “You watched another man remove his clothing for entertainment?” He glared at Camille.

“Chill out, Iris threw up on him and that killed the mood.”

“I can’t help it if I have morning sickness all the damned day!” Iris looked hurt and Camille slipped over to give her a hug, then plopped down on Smoky’s lap. His hair reached up to stroke her shoulders and entwine around her waist.

“I’ll bet the gentleman wasn’t expecting that response.” Shade laughed.

“I’m not so sure he was that much of a gentleman.” Camille repeated what the dancer had told her about the potion and the shop. “Sounds like sorcery to me. I don’t like it.”

I was about to say something when the phone rang. Yugi’s voice echoed through the line.

“Delilah?” Yugi was Chase’s second in command at the FH-CSI—the Faerie-Human Crime Scene Investigation unit. And he sounded so frantic I could barely understand him. “Please, we need you over here now. Sharah and Chase especially. It’s an emergency.”

“What’s up?” A tingling in my gut told me that whatever it was, we were in no shape to deal with it.

“There’s been a bombing at the Supe Community Council. Four confirmed deaths so far, and two people are in intensive care. We don’t know how many others were in the building. Rescue teams are heading in as soon as the bomb squad confirms no more danger. Get over here. Now.”

As I hung up, staring helplessly at the phone and wondering if any of my friends were among the dead, I realized that despite the celebrations going on in our private lives, we were always on call. There would never be another moment when we could fully relax—not until we’d pushed back the demons and stopped Shadow Wing and his cronies. And even then... there were other horrors in the world waiting for us to stop them.

“Sober up any way you can,” I said, setting the receiver back in the cradle. “We’ve got work to do. And it can’t wait till tomorrow.”

2

The room fell silent. I took a deep breath and barked out orders. “Smoky, Shade—you guys are sober, but I’ll be damned if Smoky’s touching a car.”

“I can drive,” he protested, but I shook my head.

“Right, and I can blow smoke out of my mouth. Nice try.” I tossed my keys to Shade. “You drive my Jeep and take Vanzir, Roz, and me. Menolly, you’re sober. You can drive Camille’s car and take her and her men.”

Iris piped up. “Bruce’s driver can take Chase and Sharah. But somebody has to stay here. Someone not drunk out of their minds.”

“Right . . . okay. Smoky, you stay with Iris and the others. You can handle trouble if there is any.”

“Check.” He blinked, the smile wiping off of his face. Ever since his father had captured Camille, the dragon had taken security around the place to a whole new level. We practically lived in a compound now.

“Crap, is there any way we can get some of this booze out of our systems?” I didn’t want to go in drunk. And I had the feeling that—from now on—we wouldn’t be partying with booze.

Iris blinked. “I can help—I’ve got an herb that works wonders, but the effects won’t be pleasant in the morning.”

“We have no choice. Can we all use it?” I didn’t care if we all had the dry heaves in the morning. Tonight, we needed to be on our game.

“Not everybody. But you, Camille, Shamas, Trillian, Sharah . . . it might also help Rozurial since he was Fae before he was turned into an incubus. I’d be hesitant to try it on Morio or Vanzir, though. I’m not sure about Nerissa.”

“Then bring it on. Shade’s fine. Nerissa’s staying here, so go ahead and try to sober her up after we’re gone. That just leaves Vanzir and Chase.”

“I don’t need it.” Trillian held out his hand. It was steady. “I had two brandies a few hours ago. I’m sober.”

Iris nodded. “Fine. While I might consider giving it to Chase . . . hell . . . just a minute!” She turned and raced for the bathroom.

Meanwhile, Smoky picked up Camille, tossed her over his shoulder, and headed up the stairs. “I’ll get her dressed for action,” he called over his shoulder. Trillian and Morio followed.

I pulled off my boots and asked Shade to bring me down a pair of mud stompers and a heavy denim jacket. The rest of my outfit would be fine. He nodded and dashed up the stairs.

Meanwhile, Iris reappeared and motioned for Menolly to help her. I followed them into the kitchen, where Iris pulled out a packet of a foul-smelling herbs, but instead of steeping them into tea, like I thought she was going to, she began packing them into gelatin capsules. Then she whispered some sort of enchantment over the capsules and handed me one of the giant horse pills along with a bottle of water.

I stared at it, finally slipping it into my mouth. I struggled to swallow it with a big swig of water. It began to open on the way down and I burped, an earthy, tangy taste filling my mouth. As I winced, Iris slapped a piece of bread spread with butter in my hands.

“Eat. It will help cushion the impact of the damishanya root.”

“Damishanya? Oh crap. We’re fucked. But yeah, it will help.”

Damishanya was an Otherworld herb that was as harsh as it was effective. I’d forgotten about it until Iris mentioned the name, but now memories of the root flooded back. The first time Camille, Menolly, and I had gotten pie-faced drunk, we’d sneaked some of the herb to keep our father from finding out. But he could smell the booze and herb a mile away, and we’d all suffered his wrath. We’d all been on cleaning duty for a week straight. He’d blamed Camille most, since she was the oldest and he held her responsible. She’d been under house arrest for two weeks.

As Camille and the others entered the kitchen, Iris doled out the capsules and food, and then we headed out for the cars. Roz had declined the drug; come to find out he was barely tipsy and just blowing off steam. He did, however, wash off the oil and dress. Vanzir stayed home—he was too wasted to be of any help in the field.

So Shade and I took Chase and Sharah with us in the Jeep, while Menolly drove Camille’s Lexus, ferrying Camille, Morio, Trillian, and Shamas.

As we headed down the driveway my thoughts suddenly began to clear. The root was working fast. With a poignant regret, I realized how much I’d welcomed shutting down my mind for a while. For just a little while, we’d let ourselves go wild, forget about all we’d been facing. But now, I realized just how much steam was left behind the barrier.

As we pulled into the parking lot at the Supe Community Council, I realized I was stone-cold sober. The hall—a small building that sat on a weed-infested lot with a parking lot full of cracks in the pavement—was smoldering. The smell of smoke saturated the air and it was hard to breathe. I opened the door and slowly stepped out of the car.

At first glance, I thought maybe we’d lucked out and the building hadn’t been hit too hard. But as the others joined us—with everybody but Morio looking relatively intact—we moved forward, and I realized that the place had been gutted by the fire and explosion.

I stared at the fractured hall, my heart skipping a beat. I was an integral part of the Supe Community Council. I could have easily been here. The planning committee for an upcoming dance was supposed to have met tonight. And what if this had happened during one of our monthly meetings, when we’d have had up to a hundred members joining us?

The thoughts of what might have been began to run through my head, an unending stream of bloody images, until I realized a lump the size of a golf ball had formed in the back of my throat. Camille took my hand as we surveyed the damage. The firemen were still pouring water on parts of the building, but by now, most of the flames had burned themselves out. There wasn’t much left for them to feed on.

“It’s bad.” Yugi saw us and hurried over. Second in command to Chase, the Swedish hulk of a detective had grown into a friend—he’d always been helpful to us. He was an FBH, but he was also an empath, and now he looked into my eyes and I saw him shiver. He turned to Chase, who stepped up.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here—” Chase started to say, remorse filling his voice.

“You can’t be on duty twenty-four-seven, boss. Nobody knew this was going to happen. We didn’t have any warning. Sure, hate crimes have been up, but nobody expected anything like this to go down.” Yugi handed him a file. “Here are the details we have so far.”

“Run it down for us, please.” Chase flipped through the file, but it was too dark to read, even under the streetlamp.

Yugi nodded. “Sure thing. We got a call at ten forty-five P.M. that there had been an explosion, but we weren’t sure how big or bad. Fire trucks were on the way. Team assembled and headed out. We got here to find the building engulfed by flames, and the firemen weren’t able to put a dent in the flames. I noticed an odd smell, and I still can’t place it—it might be gone, but I can’t say for sure. By now my nose is filled with the smell of smoke.”

Camille and I stepped forward and began to sniff around. Shamas did the same. After a moment Shamas let out a shout, and we looked at him.

He turned to Chase. “Explosive all right, but not from Earthside. This is canya, a volatile magical mixture. Liquid—but it’s usually mixed in small amounts into a bigger bomb. While it’s sold in the back alleys of Otherworld, it’s illegal in most of the cities there.”

“Canya? Are you sure?”

“Trust me. I know that scent.”

Camille let out a long sigh. “The one place in Otherworld you could find it in any great measure would be the Southern Wastes.” She frowned. “And the Southern Wastes are controlled by sorcerers, goblins, and the Goldunsan Fae—who work their way into some of the northern mountains. The Goldunsan aren’t like us. They’re alien, a little like the seers of Aladril.”

“That’s the second time the mention of sorcerers has come up tonight. You think Van or Jaycee had something to do with this?” I stared at her.

Two sorcerers had escaped our net a few months back after seriously putting the bite on a bunch of local werewolves, and they’d done some heavy damage to Camille in the process. We’d done our best to capture them, but they managed to vanish. We couldn’t win them all, and we’d taken down their illegal drug operation and saved several werewolves from a horrible death. So, we’d counted ourselves lucky.

Sucking in a deep breath, Camille caught my gaze. “I don’t want to go there. I really don’t, but we’d better put that down as a possibility. Revenge, perhaps, for shutting down their Wolf Briar business?”

Wolf Briar was a skanky drug used to subdue werewolves. And the production of it required the torture and dissection of werewolves. We’d put a stop to an underground production line, but the main players had managed to escape and were still out there.

“Good possibility. They’re Tregarts, so they’d have access to the explosive.” I rubbed my head. Tregarts—humanoid demons who could pass easily in society—were becoming a constant issue. We weren’t sure how they were getting in from the Subterranean Realms, but since Shadow Wing had one of the spirit seals, chances were he’d figured out a way to make it work for him.

“There’s one other possibility that we can’t overlook: Telazhar.” She pressed her lips together.

We’d gotten word that Telazhar, the necromancer who’d trained Stacia Bonecrusher—a rogue demon general whom we’d barely managed to put an end to—had escaped from the Sub-Realms. He’d been deported there when he was kicked out of Otherworld. We had reason to believe he might be Earthside now.

“What if somehow he hooked up with Van and Jaycee?” I didn’t even want to entertain the thought, but we had to.

Camille shook her head. “If he does, we’re fucked. Sorcerers and necromancers together? They’d be such powerful allies, they’d rival a demon general. And since Van and Jaycee were connected to Stacia, that’s not a wild card bet. We’d better check it out.”

Chase cleared his throat. “Keep it in mind, but let’s not start on that assumption. One thing I’ve learned: Never assume. Go by the facts, and conjecture all you like, but remember it’s just speculation until proven.” He let out a long sigh. “You say four died?”

Yugi’s jaw tightened. “Five. We found another body after I called you. Two are on the cusp—Mallen’s taking care of them back at headquarters. Sharah, you need to get over there. Mallen needs your help.”

As he moved to call an officer to drive her, I stopped him. “Can we go poke around the building?”

Yugi shook his head. “Not till morning. Still too dangerous to go in. The rest of the roof could easily cave, and then where would you be? The flames aren’t even doused yet. And we have to go through it with a fine-tooth comb for evidence, and also to look for . . .”

“For more bodies.” I clenched my teeth. I had too many friends from the Supe Community. Chances were, I knew at least one of the victims. “We’ll take Sharah to HQ. I need to see the victims. Anybody call wondering if they’re okay yet?”

He nodded. “Yeah, bunch of family members waiting at the station. I was hoping you’d volunteer to come help. It might come better from . . .” Pausing, Yugi ducked his head.

“From one of their own?” My voice was soft; I knew what he meant and there was no disrespect there. As I spoke, I felt an arm snake around my waist and Shade pressed against me, his lips brushing against the side of my head.

I leaned into his soft embrace. Even without words, I could read his intent. He had my back, during the good times and the difficult. My heart swelled as the slightly exotic musk that marked him as part dragon swept around me, shoring me up, giving me strength.

Camille caught my eye and smiled. She understood. She knew what I was feeling because she had that reassurance, too. Having a dragon lover—even a half-dragon lover—brought with it a special sense of security. That security could be broken, but it took a lot to shatter the safety.

As if reading my mind, Trillian placed his hands on Camille’s shoulders. Ever since Hyto’s attack, my sister had pulled her men close to help strengthen her boundaries, and they’d been more than willing to help her, in whatever way they could. Morio and she had started headlong back into their death magic rituals as soon as he was out of the wheelchair, Trillian had been teaching her how to fight street-dirty, and Smoky had been securing our land with his own crazed vigilance.

I looked up at Shade, intensely grateful for his support. “Thank you. Let’s go,” I said to the others. “We can’t do any more here tonight.” And with that, we turned and walked away—even though it was torture to think there might be more of my friends under the rubble—and headed for our cars.

So who am I? Taking a moment here to introduce myself, let me first say that some days I’m not exactly sure who I am. Oh, I’m Delilah D’Artigo, a two-faced Were, meaning one shape I shift into is a long-haired golden tabby who loves to get into trouble, and the other is my black panther self—ruled over by the Autumn Lord.

Which brings me to the fact that I’m also a Death Maiden—the only living Death Maiden at this time. Most of the Autumn Lord’s servants are dead, their souls gathered in Haseofon to work for him, but I’m alive. And someday, he has promised I will bear his child via my lover Shade. How and when that’s to be, I have no clue, but it’s destined to happen, and I believe in Fate.

At first, the transformation into the Autumn Lord’s service was hard for me. When my sisters and I came Earthside a few years back, I was still fairly naïve. I believed in the goodness of people. Now—well, I’m still an optimist, but I no longer wear rose-colored glasses. And I can’t automatically assume the best of everyone I meet. Now, I’m embracing my duties, and I feel honored to hold the title.

Along with my sisters—Camille, a wicked-good witch, who is also a priestess of the Moon Mother, and Menolly—a jian-tu acrobat and spy-turned-vampire, we were sent over from Otherworld. We were members of the OIA—the Otherworld Intelligence Agency—and after the portals dividing the worlds opened, we were assigned Earthside.

At first, the people here opened up their arms to their magical brethren, at one time the two worlds were united. But now hate crimes are on the rise as interaction between the Supes—supernaturals—and the FBHs increases.

Our mother was human—she’s long dead—and our father is Fae, and he swept her off her feet and took her back to Otherworld. Losing her was hard on our family. Losing our father’s support was even harder. But he turned his back on Camille, and in doing so, we turned our backs on him.

We resigned from the OIA and told our father that we’d return to duty when he came around and accepted Camille’s pledge to the Earthside Fae Queen’s court, and now we’re on our own, still facing the demon lord Shadow Wing, who intends to raze Earth and Otherworld for his own private amusement.

He’s after the spirit seals, and so are we. Originally one seal, the artifact was formed after the Great Divide, when the Fae Lords ripped apart the worlds. They created a seal to keep Otherworld, Earthside, and the Subterranean Realms separate, then broke it into nine pieces, scattering them to the Elemental Lords to keep them hidden. Separate, the seals keep the realms safe. If brought back together, they can rip open all the portals.

But sometimes, things work as they will. And the seals began to surface. They came to the attention of Shadow Wing. And that’s where we come in. We’re in a race to gather them before the Demon Lord gets hold of them. He’s got one. We’ve got five. So far, the odds are in our favor, but the fact that he possesses even one of them puts us in danger.

Technically, we now work for Queen Asteria, the Elfin Queen back in Otherworld, who’s hiding the spirit seals we find. But in reality, we work on our own, trying to ensure that the future makes it here in one piece without too much damage or demonic interference. Some days are easier than others . . .

“What are you thinking about?” Shade glanced over at me as I leaned back in the passenger seat, wincing. I had the beginnings of a headache and wondered how long before the side effects of the damishanya were going to hit.

“I’m wondering who I know among the dead. Which families I’m going to have to shatter with the news.” I rubbed my temples, glancing at Chase and Sharah in the backseat. “You guys have it worse . . . I know. I’m not complaining. It’s just never . . .”

“Never easy,” Chase said, finishing my thought. “Trust me, I understand and if I didn’t think you’d be a helpful influence, I’d never ask you to do this with me. I wish we’d brought Nerissa, too. Part of her job is as grief counselor.”

I pulled out my cell phone. “Let me give her a call and see how she’s doing.” The phone rang three times before Iris picked up. I ran down what we’d learned and where we were going. “Is Nerissa in any shape to pull herself out of the house and get down to HQ?”

“Hold on.” Iris set the phone down, and as I waited, I thought about how entangled we’d all become in each others’ lives. After a moment, Iris returned. “She’s sober. I’ll have Bruce’s driver take her over to headquarters in the limo. If you could see that she gets home when necessary . . .”

“No problem. Bless you and bless Bruce. Tell her we’ll see her when she gets there.” I punched the END CALL button. “Nerissa’s coming down.”

Chase grunted a thank-you. “Odd . . . how this has all worked out.” He didn’t say anything more, but I knew he’d picked up on my mood—I’d been around him long enough to tell.

We’d been involved after he struck out with Camille, and we’d made a good stab at a relationship, but the rocks on that ocean were just too sharp to navigate. Now he was involved with Sharah, the elfin medic, and they seemed to be a more compatible couple. He’d hired Nerissa as a crisis counselor, and she and Menolly were promised to each other. One by one, our extended family kept growing involved in ways we’d never have been able to predict. It kind of made up for the isolation we’d first felt when we came over Earthside.

By the time we arrived at the FH-CSI headquarters, Morio was fully sober. Apparently alcohol sped through his system quickly. Camille looked vaguely ill, as did Shamas, and I was starting to feel like they looked. But we were all clearheaded as we followed Chase and Sharah into the building.

The Faerie-Human Crime Scene Investigation building took up at least four floors, though there was a rumor of a hidden level. The top floor housed the police headquarters and medical unit. First floor down was a highly secure arsenal. Second floor down—the OW offender jails. And on the bottom floor were the laboratory, morgue, and archives. Tonight, we were headed for the morgue—a place we had been all too often.

As the elevator descended with a silent rush, a somber mood settled over the group, and I stared at my feet, Shade’s hand on my shoulder. I didn’t want to go in—didn’t want to look at the faces of my fallen friends. The Supe Community was tight-knit; everybody knew everybody else.

The doors opened with a swish and we stepped out onto the hard-tiled floor, our boots leaving a series of staccato tattoos echoing in our wake. The walls here had been recently painted sterile white. Whether they thought it was brighter than the pale blue it had been, I didn’t know, but it felt cold and hollow. As Chase pushed through the doors, Sharah right behind him, I watched them go in.

They fit . . . they really fit. Both of them had to deal with the leavings of society—the aftermath of battle. Whereas I was on the front lines, Chase was better suited to picking up the pieces and making sense of it all, of organizing the back lines. Chase and I never found our niche together. And yet we both had our place in the battles we were facing. And we’d become blood brother and sister. No matter what, we had each other’s back.

Chase glanced back at me, his eyes shimmering, and he blinked, then slowly smiled and inclined his head, as if he’d heard me speaking. He was changing, evolving, and none of us knew what he was becoming. Not even him.

He stood back, holding the morgue doors open for us. Sharah headed over to examine the bodies and talk to Mallen, her right-hand man, who was also an elf. He handed her a series of charts and she flipped through them.

I slowly approached the tables—five of them, each covered with a snow white sheet. Or what had started as snow white. Blossoms of blood spread across them, petals staining the undersides of the sheets, and as I watched, the patterns seemed to form the silhouettes of flowers. Or perhaps it was my imagination—like some gruesome Rorschach test.

The bodies were still, no breath, no movement. No fear they’d turn into vampires, like when Menolly had come here to identify victims. Just . . . dead. Cold, forever gone. I took a deep breath and looked up at Mallen.

“How bad are they?” Swallowing my fear, I tried to remind myself that I was a Death Maiden. I escorted—or would soon escort—souls over through the veil as part of my duties. I would be leaving the empty bodies of not just my enemies, but anybody whom the Autumn Lord ordered me to take.

He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “They aren’t good. It’s not . . . it’s bloody. But the faces are fairly intact. I think they’re recognizable enough. The bodies were pretty mangled and burned. Four of them were right near the blast. The fifth . . . he never made it through the ride to the hospital.”

Menolly and Camille joined me. I reached for Camille’s hand as Mallen pulled back the first sheet. I flinched. I knew the face. “Tom. Thomas Creia. He’s a member of the Verde Canis Clan. They were a group of Weres working for environmental causes. He’s married. Two children.”

Sharah jotted down the information as we moved to the second table. Again, the sheet came down. Again, a familiar face.

“Crap. Trixie Jones. One of Marion’s sisters. Coyote shifter. Single. I think she might have been engaged, but I’m not sure.” The fire in my belly began to burn and grow larger. Whoever did this, I wanted to find them. Now.

The third sheet. Another man. This one, I knew by name but not to call friend. But his death had not been pleasant, and the grimace on his face told me he’d died in pain.

“Salvatore Tienes. Werewolf. He recently moved up from Arizona. I don’t know what pack he was with, but he’s been staying with a werewolf family up in Shoreline.” I bit my lip, wanting to stop. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I didn’t want to see who was left—an irrational fear took hold, that it would be someone we knew. Mallen drew back the fourth sheet.

I stared. Menolly and Camille squeezed my hands, and Camille let out a little gasp. Even Chase moved closer, hanging his head.

“Exo Reed,” he said quietly.

Everybody in the Supe community knew Exo. He ran the Halcyon Hotel, catering to Supes. He’d called us in on several jobs and was an upstanding member of the NRA and a member of the chamber of commerce for the greater Seattle area. And now, he was so much fodder for worms. Bloody . . . gone to whatever afterlife awaited werewolves when they died.

Tears threatened, but I sucked them back, holding myself rigid. Camille was doing the same, and Menolly had one of those horrific looks on her face that told me she wanted to do nothing less than hunt down the scum who did this and rip them to shreds.

“Show us the last, Mallen. Then we should talk to the survivors.” Chase glanced over at the elf but paused when Mallen held up his hand.

Mallen barely looked old enough to be in high school, but he was far older than most of us. “They aren’t in any condition to talk. They may not be for a long time. But I’ll do my best to have them conscious by tomorrow.”

“Crap. We need to know everything we can about this blast.” Chase looked flummoxed but then shrugged. “Whatever . . . we’ll play it as we go. So, who’s our last victim?”

We were all afraid that it was going to be someone else we knew, but this time it wasn’t a Were, but an elf, unfamiliar to any of us. Neither Mallen nor Sharah recognized him, either.

“We’ll have to go through the records of who came over from Otherworld recently . . . track down anybody who might have seen him come through the portals.” I was shaken, and I hated to admit it, but I’d been relieved that our last casualty wore a stranger’s face. Somewhere, he had to have family or friends who would miss him. But for us, he was easier to handle—a cold statistic in what had become a terribly personal crime.

“Did the fire or explosion kill them? I know it’s an obvious question, but is there anything we overlooked? That we don’t know?” Camille spoke up, looking to Mallen for answers.

“Good question,” Chase said.

Mallen consulted his charts. “Toxicology is still out, but the most obvious cause is massive trauma due to whatever explosive device this was and third-degree burns over most of their bodies. Although . . .” He paused.

“Although what?” I pulled out my notebook and began making my own notes.

“The odd thing . . . when a bomb detonates—a homemade bomb like those commonly used by hate-crime groups—they usually make sure it’s loaded with shrapnel. Now, there are injuries due to shrapnel here, but it wasn’t from the bomb. The fragments obviously came from the surroundings. Wood from the beams, metal from the tables that exploded. Whatever blew up doesn’t seem to have left much of a residue.”

“That’s because the explosive factor was canya.” I watched as Mallen’s expression turned from perplexed to horrified. “Yeah, we’re thinking sorcerers. The question is: Who did it, and how did they get hold of this crap?”

“Then toxicity results aren’t going to show anything.” He closed the folder and set it down on the table. “The fact is, the amount of canya needed to blow up a building the size of the Supe Community Hall points to some very powerful enemies. If they have enough canya for that, I wouldn’t put it past them to have more—or worse—tricks like this up their sleeve. You have to find them, or I predict a body count like we haven’t seen in a long while.”

Chase let out a long sigh. “Thanks, we so didn’t need that information. Okay, let’s go have a talk with the families. I know some of them are waiting upstairs.” He shook his head, looking resigned. “I’m used to breaking bad news to people, but the sting never goes away.”

Berkley titles by Yasmine Galenorn

THE OTHERWORLD SERIES
Witchling
Changeling
Darkling
Dragon Wytch
Night Huntress
Demon Mistress
Bone Magic
Harvest Hunting
Blood Wyne
Courting Darkness
Shaded Vision

THE INDIGO COURT SERIES
Night Myst
Night Veil
ANTHOLOGIES
Inked
Never After
Hexed

Berkley Prime Crime titles by Yasmine Galenorn
Ghost of a Chance
Legend of the Jade Dragon
Murder Under a Mystic Moon
A Harvest of Bones
One Hex of a Wedding

Yasmine Galenorn writing as India Ink
Scent to Her Grave
A Blush with Death
Glossed and Found